


Striving for the Sun

by Demon Dreams (ScribeAzari)



Series: Lost and Found [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Dolls, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Learning New Powers, May verge into angst territory in later chapters, Recovery, pre-game, tags will update as chapters are added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeAzari/pseuds/Demon%20Dreams
Summary: Having freed the demon who'd been whispering in his mind, Sammy's mission has changed somewhat since he first set himself to finding first trousers then a way out. Now, he has a recovering demon to aid, a projector-headed old friend by his side, and so so many desolate lost souls in need of hope to think of. Not to mention, the angel still lurks above - but even though things have changed, the desire to see sunlight again remains.





	1. Step Forward

Sammy beckoned, an encouraging sound low in his throat, watching as the gangly, distorted figure of his friend and guide staggered unsteadily towards him. “That’s it - you’re doing it - almost there…” He wasn’t looking directly at the demon while he spoke, his gaze flicking to the flat eyes of the cutout Bendy was watching him from - he thought it might help to make some semblance of eye contact.

Bendy’s horns twitched, a determined sound escaping him as he limped, arms outstretched. Finally, as he managed to reach and brace himself against Sammy, a resonant purr erupted from his near-fleshless chest. A rush of alien triumph briefly swept through Sammy’s mind before the demon could contain it - something that had been happening more frequently of late, as Bendy’s physical recovery from his long confinement progressed.

The chains were long gone from his hands by now, thanks to some bolt-cutters or whatever they were that Norman and a trio of lost ones had found. Regular soup and fish intake seemed to be slowly closing up the holes the chains had left behind, too, which was positive. For some reason, though, Bendy didn’t seem to be getting any less spindly… Worrying, but Sammy had other things on his mind at present - namely praising Bendy for his progress. “Well done! You’re really getting the hang of this!”

He grinned behind his mask, reaching up to pat Bendy’s shoulder while the demon smiled broadly. Neither of them were really too sure how long it had been since the trip to the machine, but it was obvious to all that Bendy was anxious to be walking under his own power as soon as possible.

"Do͏ y͞o͟u ͠thi̶n̵k I̛'l͟l be at ̵this ͜solo ̶any̴ t̕im͢e̶ ̨soo͟n?̢" The demon asked hopefully, as if on cue, and Sammy chuckled softly as he nodded. It really did seem as though he’d be able to handle it soon - possibly another benefit of the mysteriously magical soup. To be honest, Sammy was kind of surprised he was improving this quickly after years in chains, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to comment.

“I’d imagine so - want to try walking a little further?” Sammy offered, with a tilt of his head as he considered the possibilities. “Say… from here almost to the dock?” Almost, so as to avoid Bendy slipping and falling in - Sammy  _ really _ doubted he could swim as he was right now. “I can walk beside you in case you need to steady…” A potentially tiring but clearly tempting proposition, if he was reading Bendy’s expression correctly.

True to his toony nature, a challenge called to Bendy, even though gently phrased. "S̢u̡re̢,̧ ͞I̢'͟l̨l̴ g̵i͡ve it͘ a ̡go.͡" Bendy decided aloud, melted features taking on a determined cast. Once again, Sammy was struck by just how  _ resilient _ Bendy was - how did he do it? His persistence was quite inspiring, particularly surrounded by such despair.

“Alright, let’s head off, then.” Sammy responded with a hint of smile in his tone, after the demon had let go of him again. Watchful for each wobble in his companion’s stride, he wandered alongside the lurching figure of the studio’s ill-fated flagship character. Those of the lost who were out and about gave them a respectable amount of space - nobody wanted to be the one to trip Bendy while he was recovering.

Though their progress was decidedly gradual, each step one the demon clearly had to fight for, Bendy seemed to be refusing to allow himself to pause or slow down, keeping up a constant - if unsteady - pace. Finally, reaching the boundary of the dock, Bendy latched onto Sammy’s shoulder again.

Stopping alongside him, Sammy gave him a nudge of approving emotion through the ink. His smiles were hard enough to see through the hole in his mask even  _ with _ the eyes Bendy lacked, so… reaching through the connection they shared was one of the better ways to show the demon how proud he was of him.

They had no sunlight so deep underground, but Bendy’s smile was filled with sunshine as he soaked in this nonverbal praise. Even with a good deal of his face just… melted over, he was still so  _ expressive. _ It was incredible - but then again, perhaps that was to be expected, from someone who was originally a cartoon.

Was he still a cartoon? He was physical now, but Sammy wondered whether perhaps he still possessed the same abilities toons had on the screen… that might go some way to explaining at least some of the things he’d noticed. Bendy’s endurance, his expressiveness, his recovery time, his  _ hope… _ Was there more? He certainly wasn’t going to rush Bendy into any discoveries, but there was no way he wasn’t going to be watching for them.

Noting that Bendy seemed to be drooping in spite of his bright mood, having tired himself out, Sammy gently scooped the demon up into his arms, shifting him into a comfortable position. “Time for a rest and something to eat, wouldn’t you agree?” He hummed, beginning to wander back to the ramshackle house he, Bendy and Norman were staying in for the time being.

Bendy nodded eagerly, a faint gurgle answering the cue - just as though they were indeed in a cartoon. It wasn’t just a gurgle, though. Sammy could, if he paid close enough attention, feel the echoes of gurgles like that from the demon. Not the entirety of it, but enough to know it ran deep. If only he could find something more filling and nutritious than just soup and fish, over and over again...


	2. Moderating Plans

Life in the village of the lost was… peaceful, Norman reflected as he sat on a crate watching Bendy sprawling across the laps of several lost and allowing them to pet him. The peace and company were clearly good for him, if the rumbly purring sounds he produced were any clue. Perhaps it was good for all of them.  
  
Norman hadn’t been spread out in the ink for some time now - he wasn’t usually resident in his form for this long at a time, not when there was so much to monitor… but he was learning so _much_ he hadn’t had the chance to find out about before. It helped to fight down the urge to submerge and tap into his network of the trapped.   
  
On another note, he was _needed._ Bendy still needed all the support he could get - along with hopefully some good influences as he re-learned socialisation. Sammy, too, needed him there. Norman knew how new to the studio’s cruel twists his old friend was, and how much Sammy worried that Norman would wind up claimed by the ink… For now, he’d hold off - for both their sakes.   
  
His attention was drawn from his musings by the realisation that he was being spoken to - as one prone to claiming to hear everything, naturally he opted to pretend he’d been paying attention all along. “I mean, it’s been a while by now, right? So… maybe she won’t be looking for me any more?” Ah, this was about Alice, wasn’t it?   
  
Norman produced a thoughtful staticky hum as he considered Sammy’s question, light flickering while he ran it through his mind.  _“Perhaps… but I’ve no doubt she’ll mark you as her enemy the moment she spots you.”_ He supposed aloud, wishing he had something a bit more positive to say.

Sammy’s shoulders tensed a bit, before slowly sagging. He didn’t need to say anything for Norman to work out roughly what was going through his head. He’d clearly been hoping that the danger would mostly have passed by now - and without that assurance, he was likely worried about the logistics of getting people past her, particularly Bendy.  
  
Norman… wasn’t convinced there’d be a way out, but he couldn’t bring himself to say as much to anyone, not when those around him looked so much more hopeful than usual. Their movements, their tones, what little he could make out of their expressions past the glare of his light - he couldn’t take that away from them. Especially when it wasn’t _certain_ that there was no escape.

Things _had_ changed quite a bit recently, so… perhaps there was room for a touch of hope in his own soul, with a pinch of salt. Besides, it was nicer on Sammy’s floor. More musical things, and fewer and less feral foes. Deciding to just make sure Sammy didn’t start a mass exodus until they were _sure_ they could get out, Norman patted his old friend’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner.   
  
“I guess I’ll have to work something out…” Sammy muttered, and Norman could just about imagine his brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not giving up my overalls after all that, at any rate.” Ah, Sammy - still stubborn as ever. It was kind of justified, though, considering the lengths Sammy had gone to attain that garment. “Do you know if she’s likely to leg it if she’s outnumbered?” Sammy asked hopefully, glancing between Norman and the now-attentive demon who’d begun to sit up.   
  
"͠I'̛v̶e ̵s͘ee̶n̡ her r͠u͏n ͡fr͠om ̵h͠o̢r͏d͘es of ̶enem̧ies̨ ̡bef̢o͏r͢e...̵ I͜t ͟var̕ies a ͏bi̴t,̡ ͘t̢ho̕ug͝h̴.̧"͝ Bendy contributed, raising a finger. "But̕c͠h̴e̵rs, s͞he̢'ll̶ r͏un i̷f t̡he̴r͜ę'̛s ͠m̕ore tha̷n̷ ͘t̶hree, s̶e̵ar̶c͠he͡rs͢, if̡ ther̴e̢'s mo̕re ̷than͜ ͜t̵w͏o."͘ Other sorts, Norman hadn’t seen her come up against in more than ones and twos. As Bendy didn’t seem to be mentioning anything he hadn’t seen, Norman nodded, confirming that Bendy’s information lined up with what he’d heard himself.   
  
A thoughtful hum escaped Sammy, the musician rubbing the chin his mask concealed as they wondered how they would fare as a trio. After all, bringing the lost up against her would just be cruel. “It’s worth a go…” Sammy murmured, after a while of mulling it over.

It had been notoriously difficult to dislodge an idea from Sammy’s head once it had found its way in there, even before all the ink - it was kind of nostalgic to see him like this, even though the goal he had in mind was worrisome.  _“Not until Bendy’s steadier on his feet.”_ Norman cautioned, lest his old friend get too caught up in his enthusiasm. Best to catch him before he got into full flow, when possible.

The mask was unchanged, but Norman could almost swear Sammy had blinked at that. Perhaps it was his imagination. A little caught out, the musician nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, of course - we’ll all want to be in good form for the trip.” He agreed readily, to Norman’s relief. No spontaneous hurrying off into the gaping jaws of danger for them.


	3. Wee Hours Wandering

Excitement and thrill vied with nervous jangling as Bendy’s horns twitched in search of anyone up and about. After all, he wasn’t supposed to still be up - at least, he hadn’t told anyone he would be.  _ Technically _ he hadn’t been forbidden from getting up after everyone had settled down to sleep…

Not a sound - nobody was moving. His grin grew a fraction broader, and he began the gradual, painstaking process of hauling himself up to his feet with no Sammy or Norman to play safety net. Wobbling, he flailed his arms until a finger brushed against a wall. Relief washed through him - he could lean against this.   
  
Horns still upright and alert for any hint of another’s movements, Bendy started to stagger for the door. Every little creak groaned like a recalcitrant goblin, drawing a hasty pause and flickered wince from the demon each time. He  _ knew _ the others didn’t have nearly so sharp hearing as he did, but that couldn’t keep him from feeling as though any little slip might wake them.   
  
It wasn’t really that he thought they’d be too upset with him - he just wanted to get some more practise in, and he didn’t want to cost them sleep while he did so. Wouldn’t it be a lovely surprise, too, if he could walk more easily tomorrow? He almost purred at the thought of how jubilant Sammy’s voice and mental touch would be - but purring could wake someone, so he clamped down on that thought.   
  
Finally - the door! Braced against the wall, he gradually turned the handle, easing it open with the same care as though he’d shatter something delicate without a steady hand. His hands  _ were _ much steadier at this point, he reflected with some satisfaction, but he still had to work on his stride before he’d be ready for any lengthy trips. It was him they were waiting on, wasn’t it?   
  
With the door open, he could begin to hear the gentle shifts of liquid ink from the river as he trod carefully outward. It was a relaxing sound, and quite useful directionally. He couldn’t brace himself against a wall from here on out… Telling himself firmly that he was ready, the demon stepped out, leaving the door open to make it easier to find his way back.   
  
Slowly, and with great care to maintain balance with his arms outstretched at either side, Bendy felt a soaring sense of accomplishment with each solo step. His horns perked high, he couldn’t quite keep the rumble from his chest as his grin stretched enough to ache his cheeks. He was still painfully slow, still limping and far from the dancer’s grace he’d been robbed of, but he  _ wasn’t falling. _ It was a victory he was determined to cherish - and to build on. How far could he get?   
  
He knew better than to head too far towards the sound of ink flowing, using cutout eyes to check his steering when it seemed close, but where could he go? What ought he do with this fresh flavour of freedom? An answer didn’t take long to bubble to the forefront of his mind -  _ food. _ He could search for cans of soup! His stomach gurgled its approval of this plan, and he made a lurching beeline for the nearest cutout. It’d be easier to search if he carried his eyes with him, after all.

Bendy found quite quickly that carrying something prevented him from aiding his balance with outstretched arms - something that, on reflection, he really ought have considered. Wobbling like an unsteady reed, he told himself he was going to be fine. This was just a new challenge, that was all - it could help him learn, too!   
  
So focused was he on drumming the positives into his head, though, that he didn’t spot the rope at his feet until too late, despite his cutout. It had been aimed straight ahead, not down where his feet caught. The demon yelped, the snarl in the rope tipping him off balance.   
  
He flailed, dropping the cutout as he staggered. He wanted out of the rope! His arms and face struck wall - but instead of smacking painfully into it, Bendy found with bewildered alarm that he was sinking  _ through _ the wall! He wriggled, whining in uncomprehending panic, but he didn’t call for help - he was too used to that being useless to think of it now that it would actually do some good.   
  
His fear seemed to freeze the process in its tracks somehow, solidifying the wall again squarely around Bendy’s middle. After a while of trying to struggle out of this, he flopped, taking a moment to just try to calm down a bit. Squirming didn’t seem to do much for his situation, and weariness was clawing at him more insistently now.  
  
Well… nothing  _ hurt, _ so he supposed maybe he could just rest there. He’d slept in far worse circumstances, after all. Dimly hoping that the others wouldn’t be too disappointed in him when they found him in the morning, Bendy yawned goopily, managing to drag a crate over to rest his head on as he slowly gave in to sleep.


	4. Walled In

Why, of all things, did _yawning_ persist when regular breathing didn’t? It didn’t make _sense_ \- except of course it did, of course breathing wouldn’t be animated while a yawn would be. The constant nature of breathing would be a strain on animators, but a yawn was incidental. Sammy groaned, rubbing his head. It was far too early in the day for existential realisations, even if they _did_ make him feel less like a zombie.   
  
Well, he could write it down to think about later… He’d taken to pocketing paper to write on any time he thought of or remembered something he didn’t want to forget. Fishing a scrap out, he blearily scrawled his latest musing, feeling more alert as he got it on page. It _did_ make more sense than being an undead with a beating heart - he’d been inundated by the ink, and now he was at least partly a _toon._ Surreal logic for a surreal situation.   
  
With a wry chuckle, he turned to see if Bendy was awake to comment on it to - but he wasn’t there. Now he was _definitely_ awake. Alarm trickled down his spine - where was the demon? What if he’d gotten himself hurt? A slightly irrational corner of his mind fretted that perhaps the angel might have gotten him - but that wouldn’t make sense, would it? He, after all, was still unharmed himself, and Norman’s slumber seemed to have been uninterrupted.   
  
Taking a moment to calm himself, he counted his heartbeats until the hand he pressed to his chest grew less tense. There was probably nothing to worry about. No need to be paranoid. He could just… head out and see if the lost had helped him out or something. Maybe he’d just been hungry, and not wanted to bother anyone. If so, though, what if he’d fallen?   
  
Shelving his thoughts as best he could, Sammy strode outside to scour the village for any sign of his friend. Okay, so… there were no gangly horned forms sprawled on the floor, which was good, but neither was there any sign of Bendy sat down on any of the crates or leaning against any of the buildings. Even more worryingly, a crowd of lost had gathered near one of the cavern walls, and he couldn’t see a demon looming over them.   
  
Doing his best to banish mental images of a crumpled or melting form beyond them, Sammy rushed back in to rouse Norman. Grasping his arm, he shook his old friend, before trying to drag the groaning - and rather heavy - projectionist up by the seized limb. _“ What’s going on?” _ Norman asked blearily, as he staggered to his feet.   
  
Sammy didn’t respond right away, just tugging him outside to the throng. When Norman repeated the question, he attempted to make sense of it into words, worry driving the pitch of his voice a little higher than normal. “It’s Bendy - he wasn’t indoors - what if he’s hurt, or puddling?!” Maybe he should have just run over by himself, but that would have meant facing whatever had possibly happened without his friend there for support.   
  
Norman’s pace increased, and as they reached the crowd, the lost parted to allow them through. There, affixed inexplicably to the wall, was _half_ of Bendy. The lower half, to be precise, facing the wall and stooped over. There wasn’t a hole in the wall, he was just… there. No ink dripped, but fear gripped Sammy nonetheless, chilling the ink in his veins. A squeeze to his hand - Norman was trying to soothe him. _“This might not be as bad as it looks…”_ His friend sounded just as concerned as he was, though, so that wasn’t as reassuring as it could have been.   
  
Drawing up alongside Bendy, Sammy hesitantly placed his hand on the demon’s spiny back. _Warm._ That was a good sign, right? Warm could mean he was okay - and there was no sign of any new meltiness… He squeezed Norman’s hand a little, for reassurance, and reached out to his connection with Bendy, calling his name both vocally and through the ink.   
  
For a few distinctly worrying moments, nothing happened, fraying at Sammy’s nerves. Just as he was about to turn to Norman for more ideas, however, there was a shifting motion beneath his hand. The demon was waking, mind confusedly brushing against Sammy’s. Norman’s light brightened from fretful dimness as Sammy sagged in relief, and he crackled a soft query.   
  
“I _think_ he’s alright…” Sammy responded, a little unsettled but growing more reassured by the moment. Whatever was going on, it didn’t seem to be hurting the demon, and that was definitely good to know. He _did,_ however, rather want an explanation. “Bendy, what happened?” His tone was soft, now that he knew the demon was listening.   
  
The most immediate reaction this drew was an awkward shifting beneath his hand, a brush of embarrassment and worry-of-disappointing against Sammy’s mind. “It’s alright, you can tell me.” Sammy murmured, wishing to ease any worries that worrying him would be at all like disappointing Joey. He was still worried, yes, but making Bendy at ease was important.   
  
It was a moment or two before Bendy responded, his answer still nonverbal as he tentatively pushed his memories of the previous night towards Sammy. In hindsight, Sammy reflected that perhaps he should have expected the demon to want to practise some more and surprise them, given how excited he was about being able to walk again and how much he seemed to thrive on praise from them.   
  
“You were practising, huh? Seems like you were doing pretty well before the ropes got to you.” He began, both to encourage Bendy and keep Norman in the loop. “You’ll know better for next time now, though, won’t you?” There - he’d handled assuring Bendy that he wasn’t mad at him, and given him some advice. He could feel the echoes of the demon mulling it over, which gave him some time to try to make some sense out of the memory of falling through the wall.   
  
Norman, for his part, seemed to have been thinking over the same issue. Producing a slight static burst, as though clearing his throat, he moved to pat Bendy’s back gently. _“Have you tried thinking back to the same feeling you had when you started sinking through?”_ He asked, intriguing Sammy. Was that how Norman had learned to use his own inky ability?   
  
A faint rumble of contemplation escaped the demon, mostly muffled by the wall, and shimmery patterns of ink began to dance across the surface of the wall. Just as he was opening his mouth to encourage Bendy, Sammy shuddered. A tickly, giant-centipede-legs sensation crawled up his arm from where his hand rested on Bendy - and from the electronic squawk Norman uttered, it wasn’t just him. Their hands were stuck - Bendy was lurching forwards, toppling - Sammy yelped as he lost his footing, all three of them tipping into and through the wall.


	5. Stepping

Warm. The ink was dark and shifting, but far warmer and gentler than when he’d met a sticky not-quite-end at Bertrum’s no-longer-hands. There were no screams, only faint whispers that felt like the voices of his friends. A disorienting blend of uncertainty and unfamiliarity. Just as Sammy was beginning to fear they’d be trapped in this gentler abyss, the ink disgorged them.  
  
Air met his skin, and the room around swum into visibility. Dingy, mostly bare, but for a few crates. It was a fairly generic room, apart from the distinct lack of anything resembling a door. Had this area somehow gotten closed off? For the moment, Sammy focused on making sure he and the others were all intact before worrying about anything else. After all, that had been quite out of the ordinary, even for the studio, and Bendy had been stuck in that wall all night. That, and he could still feel echoes of the tingling drifting through him.  
  
Norman groaned, tapping at his speaker - probably to check that it hadn’t gotten gunked up - before helping Bendy to sit down on a crate against the wall. A good idea, Sammy thought, given how long he’d been on his feet, well-supported or not. Okay, so… it definitely seemed like they’d stepped right through that wall, passing through a quiet stretch of ink as they did. They’d… inkstepped, to be poetic about it. Nobody was hurt, at least.  
  
Brow furrowing against the back of his mask, Sammy smacked his hand lightly against the part of the wall they’d just seeped out of. The impact was solid against his palm, and the sound of the strike had Bendy’s horns twitching. Okay, so it wasn’t the wall… This had begun as an accident of Bendy’s, though… so perhaps it was a special power of his? It hadn’t been in the cartoons… or had it? Toon characters did tend to pop out of all kinds of improbable places, though not usually through walls - maybe this ability was at least related to that..?  
  
His musing was interrupted by Norman pressing a cool can into his hands - ah, Norman, practical as ever. If there was food here, they might as well have breakfast before worrying too much about what to do next. He and Bendy chorused their thanks, a shared grin passing between them as they spoke at once. That seemed to be perking up the demon’s mood, Sammy mused.  
  
While he sipped his soup, politely ignoring the way Norman ate his own, he took a seat between his friends. For a while, the only sounds were liquid, and the slow crumple-crunching of the can Bendy was consuming fully sealed. As doing this didn’t seem to have harmed him so far, Sammy had decided to just give the demon his empties and not question it too much. Norman seemed able to handle the metal as well, absorbing it as he did, but Sammy didn’t really feel like trying to see if he could do the same.  
  
_“Hey, what’s that?”_ What had Norman spotted? Sammy glanced in the direction of his beam, a soft startled sound escaping him. How had he not noticed this? A cutout - maybe he’d just registered the almost-familiar outline and not questioned it further. It was clearly _not_ a standard cutout, however. Features slightly drippy in places, _this_ image of Bendy stared out with a strained smile and eerie eyes quite unlike the usual piecuts. It also carried a sign, advising that wandering was a terrible sin. Creepy…  
  
Both he and Norman peered at Bendy, but from his lowered horns and confused whine, it didn’t seem as though he had the answer. "I ͘can̡'͢t̵ ͜s̷ee ̷throug̢h͜ it͞.͝..͝"̷ Bendy mumbled, uneasiness in his tone. Perhaps it was time to figure out if they could get out the same way they’d gotten in…  
  
When Sammy suggested this, Norman seemed faintly reluctant, perhaps wanting to investigate more, but Bendy’s evident and immediate eagerness to get out swayed him into agreement. Sammy gently took one of Bendy’s hands, once they were all stood up, Norman taking the other - no sense risking that they might get separated in the ink. Then, once they were all ready, the three of them strode together towards the wall.  
  
Though he couldn’t feel Norman’s mind, Sammy could feel Bendy trying to focus on the sensation of inkstepping. Wanting to help, he pushed his own impressions through the link between them. The tingle returned, more indistinct and spread through his form, and the wall’s surface gave way like runny gel, warm against his skin.  
  
The trip back was quite similar to the last - that was a relief. Consistency likely meant they wouldn’t be subject to howling undertows. For some reason, however, the scene greeting them when they emerged was not the one Sammy had expected. Rather than facing the crowd of lost, instead it looked as though they’d found themselves back where they’d been sleeping. The destination didn’t have to connect directly to where they’d set out from! Had someone’s thoughts drifted here while they were in transit?  
  
Before he could get too excited about the possibilities, a wave of fatigue rippled through the link. Bendy yawned, curling up on the floor like a cat - and not all the weariness Sammy felt could be explained by Bendy’s late night echoing over. Norman had sagged into a seated position as well, looking tired even without a direct connection to Bendy.  _“You feel that too?”_ Norman asked, as Sammy sat down to join him.  
  
Nodding slowly, Sammy couldn’t help wondering what was behind this. When he put the question to his old friend, Norman hummed thoughtfully, his head tilted.  _“This is new, right? It could get easier over time.”_ What about them, though? Why were they both feeling this as well? Norman held up a finger to forestall Sammy’s questions, and the musician wondered briefly how he’d known he was about to speak up. _“We were both touching Bendy both times, and we both wanted to help - I think we’re tired because we became an active part of the process ourselves.”_  
  
Sammy’s eyes would have widened if he’d still had them. “Does that mean _we_ can do that too?” He asked, straightening up a little. There were so many possibilities this could afford - provided they could figure out how it worked, and how to use it without feeling so wiped out every time. Right now, he wasn’t sure he could stand up for long. Fleeing an angry angel was another possibility - unless she could do that too… That thought snaked a chill down his back, but… if she _could_ do that, why would she bother with stairs or lift?  
  
_“Could be.”_ Norman opined with a quiet thrum of thought.  _“We’ll have to test that out.”_ Although this morning had brought such worry in its wings, perhaps it had also yielded a source of hope. Deciding to cling onto that impression of it, Sammy yawned and leaned back for a nap.


	6. Making Progress

On the one hand, Bendy felt a little guilty for laughing - but on the other hand, watching his friends walking persistently into walls was pretty funny. It wasn’t as though they necessarily _knew_ he was watching them anyway, given how his vision only worked through his image. He could hear them, too - little thunks, thuds, oofs and muttered words reaching him in amusing clarity.   
  
He’d been worried that they’d still be upset, but it seemed as though they’d been inspired instead - a relief, to be sure. Well, they’d helped him so much with his walking - maybe he could help them with their inkstepping? With a soft croon to himself, Bendy hauled himself to his feet and began to wander in their direction.   
  
Walking was still more painful than he remembered, particularly in one leg less properly formed than the other, but he was a lot more independent with it now. That was something, right? He tried not to dwell on what this would mean for his dancing, but his mind did have a habit of wandering back to the fear that he’d never dance again.   
  
He had so loved throwing himself into a good rhythm - he was even _called_ the dancing demon - but what if he’d lost that for good now? It was painful to think of - but maybe there was hope. Maybe if he kept exercising his legs and eating the metal of his soup cans to try and strengthen them, they’d eventually get better? He could hope, at least.   
  
Coming to a stop just a few feet from his friends, Bendy reached out to tap them both on the shoulder before they could make another approach. Snickering a little at the way they jumped, Bendy gave them a big grin. "̵Need a ̧h͠a̸n͢d͜?̡" He asked, his tone unrepentant. It was fun to startle them - they made such amusing noises every time.   
  
_“Do you have to sneak up on us like that?”_ Norman asked with a wry chuckle, to which Bendy gave a gleeful nod. From the chuckling he could hear on his other side, Sammy was amused as well - Bendy’s grin broadened. His little joke had been good already, but it was even better with the others amused as well.   
  
“We’d love some help.” Sammy answered, his tone appreciative and still tinged with laughter. “Thank you, Bendy.” With his grin more at ease than usual, Bendy offered them both his hands - he’d had an idea, and holding hands was nice even without such a plan. It was something that made him feel warm and cared for, and any excuse to do so was welcome.   
  
Both of his friends’ hands felt strong and reassuring as they took his, but so distinctly different he was sure he’d be able to tell who was who even without context or cue from his cardboard eyes. Norman’s hand was broader, more fingers curled around Bendy’s hand, and held his hand firm and steady. Sammy’s was slimmer, and tended to hold his just a little tighter, sometimes giving him a reassuring little squeeze when he was getting stuck in his own head.   
  
Purring in a soft, sticky rumbling, Bendy focused on the feeling of his own inkstepping experiences. Letting it rise, he immersed himself in it enough that he was almost sure he’d be able to do it if he walked into a wall. Those shimmery ink patterns had begun to spread and shift around him again, trailing across his friends.   
  
As he focused on pushing the sensation through the ink to them both, some of the excess drips of his ink seeped from his hands into theirs. Norman’s connection to the ink was too established to open a link like the one he had with Sammy, but direct contact made communicating through the ink a whole lot easier.   
  
His friends shivered almost in unison, and Bendy was pretty sure they’d gotten the impression. Slowly, he relinquished the feeling, letting their hands go. "Now̸ ̵t̷ry̸?"̨ He suggested, tilting his head while the other two regathered their wits. As he watched, they nodded their acknowledgement, and he smiled at them.   
  
Sammy was the first to make an attempt, marching straight into the nearest wall with clear determination. At first, it didn’t seem as though anything was happening, his mask just pressed against the wall. Slowly, though, he began to ooze through. Norman emitted an excited clunk-rattle sound, his speaker fizzing, before practically hurling himself into a wall with a sticky splat noise and beginning to seep through just as gradually as Sammy.   
  
Bendy couldn’t stifle a giggle at this, both because that had been pretty funny and because his friends were actually managing this. It felt good to have something new in common with them, something he could teach them, at least a little bit. Where would they emerge, though? It occurred to Bendy that he actually didn’t know where they were going to end up. Once both of the pair had wholly vanished, Bendy began to lumber in search of their voices and footfalls, wanting to be sure they were okay.   
  
The familiar gnawing of hunger in his shrivelled gut was more insistent than it had been recently - having soup and fish to eat had been taking the edge off since he’d been freed, but now? It was resurging, clawing deeper. Was this because of the inkstepping? He hoped that would lessen as he got used to it - being able to get between places with less strain on his legs was too valuable to give up because of hunger, even without the possibility of dodging the angel Sammy had suggested it could allow.   
  
A jubilant whoop jolted him out of his thoughts, his horns perking up to tilt towards the sound - that had definitely been Sammy. His faded grin spreading once more, Bendy lurched towards the distinctive sounds of someone attempting to noogie the projectionist - a sound he didn’t even need to peek through Sammy’s mask to recognise by now. It was time to think of happier things, and make sure his likely tired friends didn’t over-exert themselves.


	7. All Aboard

With Bendy’s stride much more practised, and all three of them able to inkstep more quickly, the time had come to venture up once again. In fact, Norman reflected as he reached for the others’ hands, it made getting back up there a lot easier. Now, they wouldn’t have to boat over the hand’s domain.  
  
As Norman knew the train area best, it was he who was supplying the main impression of the site. Both Sammy and Bendy were contributing their own, but it was Norman leading as they stepped through the wall. They _could_ have tried to get higher up, even having considered trying to bypass the angel’s territory altogether, but the further they stepped the more tiring it had proven thus far. It was possible they simply weren’t ready for that yet.  
  
The inky expanse seemed somehow longer, more drawn out, but the whispers were no louder or more insistent than they had been before. It was warm, but the same kind of warm as a welcoming bed, near-lulling. None of them felt safe enough to actually fall asleep in there, though, which was probably for the best.  
  
The sleepy warmth disgorged them not far from the trains, into the stickiness coating the floor so liberally. Had they come _out_ of a train? Quite possibly. Bendy’s face split open into a yawn that was honestly quite impressive, even without the stretched out noise that came with it. A fainter echo of it sounded out, muffled behind Sammy’s mask, and Norman felt the inexorable jaw-tug sensation of a yawn trying to escape. However, he didn’t exactly _have_ jaws right now. The resultant sensation was… less than pleasant.  
  
In an attempt to distract himself until the feeling faded on its own, Norman chivvied the others up the stairs to find somewhere dry they could all sit and lean against the wall for a while to wait out the fatigue. A nice nap would be just the ticket right about now… Limbs feeling heavy, Norman got comfy between the others, turning his light out for a little while.  
  
A while later, he wasn’t sure how long, someone nudged him gently awake. His light flickering on again, he peered quizzically at the demon. "͝Do tḩe wh̸ist̡l̛es ̸in ̡t͏he͠ t̵r̸a͏i͟ns ͏wor̵k̡?̴"̛ Bendy asked, face turned towards him. He hadn’t expected this question, but perhaps he really should have. After all, interacting with the trains was one of the things that tended to soothe his usual visitors.  
  
Technically, the whistles really _shouldn’t_ work, not without a fire burning - but they did. Not as clearly, and nowhere near as loudly, but they worked - like the ghost of whistles past and never-blown, he supposed whimsically. Instead of running through his train of thought to Bendy, though, he simply nodded. _“Yup. Want a go?”_   
  
From the way both Bendy and Sammy perked up, it seemed the idea was definitely generating interest. Norman chuckled a little, finding this and their eagerly positive responses endearing. _“If you think you’re ready to get up, go for it.”_ He’d barely finished speaking before Sammy was helping Bendy up to head back down to the trains, to his further amusement. While walking was much easier now, they were still being a bit careful about stairs.  
  
Sammy paused to peer back at him, head tilted as if in question, and Norman waved him on. _“I’ll catch up, I just need a few minutes more.”_ That, and he’d found a new can of soup. No matter how many times he cleared his stomping grounds of the stuff, more always sprung up after a while. Sammy nodded, and it wasn’t too long before the faded phweeing of the whistles rose from below. Although he couldn’t see it from where he sat absorbing his can, Norman just knew the pair of them were grinning all over their faces.  
  
The soup reinvigorating him somewhat, Norman hauled himself to his feet and began to walk down to see how they were doing. On his way, he discreetly pulled a few objects from a crate nearby. Whirring, his light bright, Norman came up alongside each of the others to lightly deposit a distinctive hat on each of their heads. The searchers usually liked it when he did this, so he’d imagined that his friends would as well.  
  
He wasn’t disappointed. Sammy sat up straighter, a pleased sound in his throat, and Norman could see his old friend’s grin in his mind’s eye. Such a simple thing, but one that had been growing so rare in the lead up to their downfall. Now that he was one of the inky masses, it would be so easy for him to lose his smile entirely - something Norman felt bound and determined to prevent. Keeping spirits up was more important than ever now, and it ached and wrenched inside to imagine Sammy melting into despair.  
  
Bendy’s clear joy and surprise were precious as well, all the more so for still being so genuine after everything. It felt warming inside, a sort of internal cosiness, to be able to bring him happiness. To see him light up and actually get to enjoy life again. It was meaningful, it was hope, and it was something _he_ was able to contribute to.  
  
Protective… that was at least part of what he felt, wasn’t it? That seemed a little surreal, with one of his friends proficient with an axe and the other able to detonate their most common foes without so much as touching them, but Norman realised that and it didn’t change the simple fact that anyone wanting to harm either of them would have to get through his fists to do so.  
  
"͏C͠o̧m͘e̡ o̵n̕,͏ r̨ide ̡w͞i͢t̴h͞ u͞s!"͏ Bendy urged, papping at Norman’s shoulder. "͡Wę're go̷i͞n'͢ ͘t͡o ̸Ti̢m͏buk͏t͏u͜!" Norman’s light blinked as he was jolted out of his reverie, processing Bendy’s gleeful pretending and Sammy’s earnest nodding. Well, some play would probably do them all good. With a crackling chuckle, he stepped up onto Bendy’s train and donned the last of the hats.  
  
 _“All aboard!”_


	8. Whispered Warning

It was hard to judge how long they spent having fun with the trains, but it was certainly plenty enough for several fictional journeys to all sorts of locations. Pretending for a while that they could really travel beyond the walls that caged them was a welcome respite - and one Sammy hoped would bolster their spirits for what lay above. He hadn’t, however, counted on their fun drawing an audience.  
  
Several pairs of glowing, golden eyes peered down at them from the balcony, the lost staring in apparent curiosity. Were these the lost Sammy’d sheltered with before? How long had they been watching? It was somewhere between embarrassing, eerie and sad to realise they’d been watching he and the others having fun.   
  
Before either he or Norman could say anything, Bendy began to beckon to them. Sammy wasn’t sure whether he recognised them or just wanted to meet new people - either way, they had company. Curious, question-whispering company. Unlike Sammy, Bendy seemed to have no qualms with cheerfully - if stickily - informing their visitors of their game of pretend. Well, he _was_ a toon - it was probably not something he’d think to be embarrassed by.   
  
It was good to see Bendy happy and making friends, anyway. Particularly awed-seeming friends, from their tones and postures, but Sammy couldn’t blame them for that. Even if he _hadn’t_ sung to them about all Bendy had done for him, it would still be quite impressive to meet a seven-foot-tall genuine cartoon demon in the physical, inky flesh, wouldn’t it? It probably wasn’t a good thing that he had to actually give that some thought, but maybe he was just getting used to things. In any case, he kept a careful eye out to make sure Bendy wasn’t getting overwhelmed by all the lost now playing along. He was an awe-inspiring figure, yes, but he was also Sammy’s friend, recovering and not quite used to crowds - Sammy’d look out for him.   
  
A crackle behind him - Sammy jumped with a strangled noise, only to be greeted by Norman’s whirr-clunking laugh. “Stop _doing_ that!” He protested petulantly, folding his arms and trying to pretend he hadn’t been spooked. Norman’s chuckling apology wasn’t entirely convincing, but he let it slide. What could his oh-so-sneaky friend want, though? From the tilt of his head and the slant of his shoulders, it looked as though he had something on his mind.   
  
_“The angel’s been giving the searchers bother, according to our whispering friends.”_ Norman informed him, his tone low to keep from upsetting any nearby lost with further mention of her. Ah. That _would_ present some disturbance, wouldn’t it? Unsure he really wanted to know, but too morbidly curious not to speak up, Sammy asked what she’d been doing in that vein.  _“Somehow, she’s found or made herself a giant hypodermic needle, and I think you can imagine what she’s been doing with it.”_   
  
Sammy pulled a face, though the feel of his mask against his shifting expression reminded him that Norman wouldn’t be able to see it when he did that. “By _giant,_ how big are we talking here?” He asked warily, trying to build up a mental image. In answer, Norman held his hands an alarming distance apart - about the length of Sammy’s forearm or so. “That’s _huge!_ What the hell’s she want with it that big?!” Drama, perhaps? Norman just shrugged, which was probably fair.   
  
Hissing a breath in through his teeth, Sammy rubbed the back of his head. “Well, that’s very not good… At least it isn’t something like a gun or a chainsaw, but it’s definitely best to know about this in advance…” If he’d seen _that_ coming towards him unexpectedly, he’d probably have been quite thrown off. Well, terrified, to be more precise. He _really_ didn’t like needles, even the smaller ones. “Have you told Bendy?” He added, worried about how the demon might take this.   
  
Norman paused, before slowly nodding. As Sammy listened, Norman explained that while the news had sombered Bendy, he hadn’t seemed surprised. Just… saddened. “I suppose he must’ve seen this sort of thing happening before…” Sammy sighed. “Either way, we probably should be moving on. If she’s been taking ink from them, maybe by the time we get up there she’ll have gone back to her eyrie to do whatever it is she does when she isn’t just killing people.” It was perhaps a faint hope, but it was surely better than nothing.   
  
Norman cocked his head in thought for a moment, before nodding ponderously. That was enough for Sammy. His mind reaching out for the familiar warmth of Bend’s thoughts, he tried to convey the concept of moving on upwards. Though the brush of a response he received was positive, it did still take a few minutes for the demon to extricate himself from among the lost. That was alright, though - it was more a vague inkling they had than a deadline.   
  
The lost continued to play beneath as the little party ascended the stairs, the sound of tooting whistles following them up. That was an upside, Sammy thought - the lost were still having fun, not subdued by their woeful circumstances as they usually were. That was something they could maybe work on, particularly if they managed to get everyone out - _when. When_ they managed to get everyone out, the lost would definitely still need some help recovering, and Sammy intended to be there for them through it, to help them to be _happy_ again, and not just for a moment or two at a time. Before he could help them to adjust to life outside again, though, he’d have to get them there.


	9. Interlude through Familiar Ground

Heading up through the funfair area wasn’t too bad, all things considered. For one thing, they didn’t have to venture into any of the dangerous areas if they didn’t want to. Sammy had the vague feeling that there was something he’d intended to do here at some point, but he wasn’t sure what it was. It probably hadn’t been as important as getting out of the studio though, all things considered, so he largely put it out of mind as they searched for a way up.  
  
Okay, so technically there was already a way up, but that involved the chasm of terror - which he was _not_ keen on revisiting if he didn’t have to. Norman, for his part, seemed a little dubious of Sammy’s unease - until they actually _reached_ the yawning gap in the studio that necessitated the rickety little conveyance that had so frightened Sammy on the way down. Was it really going to be strong enough to carry all of them?   
  
Hesitating, Sammy glanced between the others, trying to gauge how they were reacting to this potential deathtrap of a transportation mode. Bendy seemed speculative, which was a little worrying, but it was harder to read Norman, all things considered. “...We can all see the other side, so… maybe we should inkstep instead of trusting the ridiculous zipline crate with our lives?” He suggested hopefully, feeling… oddly stared at, actually. That was odd, considering that neither of the others were really _staring._ Maybe he just felt on the spot.   
  
At least Bendy seemed to remember how distressed this thing had made him before, sending him a soothing impression of a purr through the ink as he patted him on the shoulder. That helped him to relax a little, but he still needed to know what was going through Norman’s head. Finally, his old friend spoke, illuminating him in their closest approximation of eye contact.  _“I’ll admit, that might be safer.”_   
  
Relieved, Sammy nodded, attempting to take both of the others’ hands before either of them could change their minds. “Great! Let’s get going then, we can rest up a little among the books when we get to the archive!” He responded with slightly false enthusiasm, mostly just wanting to get away from that harsh drop. If you fell down _there_ and managed to reform, how long would it take you to get back up to where you’d been? How far down did that even go? Would you be lost forever? They’d been deep down before, but that was no guarantee that the friendlier parts of the deep were even connected to that chasm.   
  
The feeling of being watched didn’t leave him as they stepped into a nearby wall, clinging to his back like slime even as his hands were given gentle squeezes of reassurance. Being enveloped in the inky passageway though, felt somehow secure - probably because it meant that his friends _listened_ to him, that they were willing to pause and consider other options. It felt a little as though maybe someone _hadn’t_ listened like that at some point, but he wasn’t quite sure who.   
  
It wasn’t far from the other side before the archive - and thankfully, this time there was no hint of the grasping arms from the walls. Had those been real? Did they only appear when one was alone? Were they just asleep? It was hard to say, but he didn’t mention them in case he sounded bananas. Mm, bananas… he missed fruit. Perhaps he ought to avoid as many phrases with them in, to avoid teasing himself with their absence.   
  
Yawning a little, he led into the chandelier-lit space and began to curl up on the floor. Though it had meant avoiding terror, the inkstepping _had_ somewhat taken it out of him. Lethargy dragged at his limbs, so why not let them rest while the opportunity was there? Nothing had harmed him in the archive before, though things _had_ been somewhat weird.   
  
Warmth engulfed him drippily as the demon settled down and wrapped his arms around him, a little purr emerging between them. Norman’s arms enfolded him next, the base of his projector just slightly brushing against the horns of his mask from behind. This was cosy, comfortable and safe… he could rest like this for a while...


	10. Heavenly Host

The higher they ascended, the more noticeable the tautness in the air became, like a tight-held string about ready to twang free. Like eyes in the dust, fixed on their every move. The only eyes around, though, were those on cutouts, posters and toys, staring blankly, unblinking. There was something so eerie about the angel’s territory now that he knew what sort of thing she got up to, but perhaps that wasn’t the only thing making it so unnerving.   
  
Sammy knew full well that was at least partly his own experiences and the tales of others colouring the place in his eyes, but there was an eerieness to it anyway. Nowhere filled with this many abandoned toys could be entirely on the level. Something was more off about it than he’d expected, though… something not quite right, not as he remembered - not that his memory was the most reliable thing he had to go on.   
  
After a while, once this niggling unease’d had the time to work its way through his mind more thoroughly, he stopped in place. “Is it just me, or shouldn’t the toys be on the  _ other side _ of the angel’s lair?” Sammy asked, wariness colouring his tone. The others paused mid-step on other side of him, thrown by this question. There were a fair few searchers in the area who could’ve been responsible for moving them, yes, but why would they choose to take only the little angels? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t see any of the Bendy or Boris ones around… It didn’t make sense - and when things didn’t make sense, there was usually something wrong.   
  
Norman stooped to peer more closely at one, while Sammy felt as though the hairs he no longer had on the back of his neck were standing on end under the unblinking, soulless stare of the dolls. Bendy’s mind brushed against his with a hesitant inquiry, concerned by his unease. How was he to explain? Though to his chagrin he recalled them only dimly, Sammy  _ had _ watched horror movies, and read novels in that vein. Bendy had no such lore to draw on, and was perhaps too used to the studio’s weirdness to find this eerie. “It’s the dolls…” Sammy whispered, as they stepped carefully onward. “There’s so many, and they shouldn’t  _ be _ here…”   
  
A speaker crackled, but Norman’s chest was silent. Where was that sound coming from? Above? Why were there speakers up the- no, there was no sense in questioning things like that any more, not when weirdness was the rule down here.  _ “My little cherubs have more right to be here than you do!” _ A distinctive voice spat from the speakers above, loud enough that Bendy tried to cover his horns with a whine. They were given no time to respond.   
  
A blur of fabric and gleaming metal - the dolls leapt - hands gleamed - needle claws. Bendy roared at them, his inky patterns spreading. They rippled, but didn’t burst - their fabric shells held them together. They swarmed, clumping and climbing on legs, hindering movement while others leapt at faces. The angel’s unhinged laugh rang out - but they had higher priorities than demanding answers.   
  
Norman grabbed onto Bendy’s hand to help him balance, stomping stinging plushes underfoot. Sammy hacked at the seething masses with his axe, spilling thick globs of ink from inside them while others gouged at his legs, tearing his overalls. He’d already hated needles - he didn’t need  _ this _ \- at least without breath he couldn’t be short of it from the fear clutching at his heart. It was like being set upon by land piranhas!   
  
This was all going a bit fast for Bendy, but he was doing his best to claw off any doll that managed to cling to any of them. Ignoring their sharp stings, he bit their heads off and tossed them into his maw. Sammy would have voiced his approval, but that would be a distraction for both of them.   
  
The dolls were an implacable, hurtling swarm - they didn’t falter at the destruction of their fellows, or react to injury. Even mostly pulped, they crawled onward to stab at their foes. Those needles were tiny, but nobody wanted to fall and find out if they could tear someone apart with them. It already felt as though they were shredding their legs.   
  
Gradually, aching and throbbing from multiple leaking gashes, they managed to clear the area of the nightmarish creations - mostly into Bendy’s maw. Before they could rest, rush on or even find soup, an outraged cry rang out from above.  _ “How  _ **_dare_ ** _ you devour my cherubs!” _ Sammy would have considered a snappy comeback - but an unexpected strike split his arm open - a face twisted in fury  _ far too close. _   
  
He gasped, pain flaring - he couldn’t hold onto his axe. Where had she come out from so fast? She had an axe too - he scrambled to get out of the way of her next attack, Norman kicking at her legs in an attempt to unbalance her as he shrieked. She leapt aside, axe swinging into the hand Norman was trying to grab at her with. A garbled electronic cry escaped - but before she could aim anywhere else, Sammy threw a weird tape thing from the ground at the halo lodged in her head with his good arm.   
  
She whirled on him with a pained shout, lunging towards him. A clawed hand lashed out, catching on the side of her face. Tearing - ripping - a wailing shriek burst from the angel, a sound as though someone was torturing an eagle. Her face had been warped already, one eye a piecut while the other was unnervingly human. Now, it bubbled, melting from her jaw on one side and exposing teeth in a skull-like grimace. She had no more taunting words, it seemed. Perhaps they’d been swallowed in the pain and fear clearly visible in her features.   
  
Sammy’s shock mingled with the echoes of Bendy’s - neither of them had known he could  _ do  _ that. It was done, now, and so was the angel, fleeing as fast as her legs could haul her out of there. A part of Sammy pitied her, but the pain of his own sliced-open arm and grated legs reminded him of how readily she’d have killed he and his friends if she’d had just a little more luck.


	11. Aftermath

The room was unnaturally quiet after the angel’s departure, leaving them to tend their wounds and scrounge soup as best they could while they contemplated what had just happened. _“I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve got a feeling she’ll still be holding a grudge about today for a long while.”_ Norman uttered, after a while spent absorbing soup and cleaning leaked ink from healing injuries.   
  
Sammy nodded, checking that the wrapping on Norman’s still healing hand was secure while Norman did the same for the musician’s arm. “I wouldn’t be surprised…” He murmured in response, mulling over that rather dramatic injury the angel had received. That would take quite a bit of healing… How much soup would it take? The soup hadn’t completely healed he or Norman from those axe strikes - thankfully though neither gash was revealing glistening sepia-ink bone after the soup.   
  
Bendy whined guiltily, horns drooped low as he ducked his head. It spoke well of him that he felt remorse for harming someone, Sammy reflected as he peered at the hangdog demon, but considering the situation, he thought he’d better reassure him. He could feel the guilt looming thick and heavy in the atmosphere, and Bendy just didn’t deserve that, not over her. Once his hands were free, he reached for Bendy’s ungloved hand, the one whose claws were at the root of this, and gave it a little squeeze. The demon squeaked like a chew toy, clearly startled, and his face turned towards Sammy. “Hey, you did a good job.” He assured him softly, peering at him.

The inky patterns hadn’t diminished at all since the incident, which Sammy was fairly sure meant Bendy was particularly stressed, but he could tell that the demon was listening to him. He could feel his focus acutely, even if he hadn’t been able to see his horns lifting. Bendy squeezed his hand in return, clearly in need of the comfort. "I̷ ̸hu̕rt͞ hȩr.͟..̨"͢ He whispered croakily, as he limped alongside Sammy. "S͘h̵e̛ ͝was my͘ ͞f̡r͡i̧en͘d͞... ̧a̛nḑ... ̸a͜nd͠ ̨sh̨e _͝s͡c̷r͝ea͘me̸d_..̸.͡" The demon’s voice trembled, and Norman paused, apparently deciding that they could afford a little break.

The projectionist wrapped his arms around Bendy, holding him close in an embrace Sammy wasted no time in joining in on. Bendy’s shoulders trembled, a plaintive creeling escaping him as he clung tightly to them. It tugged hard on Sammy’s heartstrings, and he tried to use their link to push assurance and gratitude towards him.  _“Whoever she is now, I don’t think she’s Alice any more.”_ Norman sighed as he rubbed the demon’s back, his tone sympathetic but tired. Bendy’s old friend from the show surely wouldn’t have even considered acting as this ‘angel’ did.

Bendy didn’t respond aloud, but he nodded shakily, unable to deny this point. Sammy decided to speak up as well, hoping he’d be able to make a difference.”I know it hurts, and I’m not saying it _shouldn’t_ feel bad to hurt someone like that, but… you were protecting us…” He pointed out gently, keeping his voice soft and tender. “She was the one who was trying to _kill_ us.”

It was an important point to remember, even in the face of unintended consequences - if someone was trying to kill you, there was no need to pull punches. Norman joined him in these assurances, trying to comfort the demon, to assure him that he’d not made a monster of himself. It was true that this held up their progress for a fair while, but soothing Bendy’s distress was important.

* * *

  
Her face had torn like wet paper… Although Bendy had calmed down somewhat since their rather dramatic encounter with Not-Alice, he couldn’t keep his mind from flitting back to that awful shriek. He’d cleaned his hand on a random stretch of wall, but he could still feel the gooey ripping against his fingers as they trudged on. It was… haunting. Not for the first time, he wondered how their lives had come to _this._

He and Alice’d had their differences, of course - everyone did, even without being an angel and a demon - but they’d had one another’s backs. They’d laughed and danced and had adventures together - and _she’d_ usually been the one pulling them out of whatever mess they’d gotten into. She’d had a sympathetic smile and a hug ready any time he or Boris needed it, too… How could even a warped imitation of her _be_ this vicious?

He’d wrestled with that before, but never at such close quarters, never with her ink on his claws. He’d ripped right through her _face…_ The others had told him that acting in defense of them and himself didn’t make him a monster, or even in the wrong, and they’d told him that worrying about that was a good sign for his state of mind and morality - but even though that made some degree of comforting sense, it couldn’t blot out that horrifying wail, or the rip-ooze-squish of her cheek against his clawed fingers. Besides, there was something else, something he hadn’t told either of the others.

When he’d devoured the cherubs, the renewed ravening in his gut had _dwindled_ \- far more with each cherub than for even three cans of soup. They’d been alive, sort of, and he’d eaten them all. They’d been _delicious_ , too - and though hunger still tugged at his insides, it was only a faint ache now, rather than as almost mind-consuming as it had been before. The most sated he could remember being since arriving in the studio, and it was because he’d eaten a swarm of mini Alices alive. That was both grim and really rather worrying.

What did it say about him? What if he _was_ a monster? There had been a lot of them, but each one had been so much more filling than the foods he was used to despite their small size. Was it because they’d been alive..? He shuddered briefly, prodding at the thought like a loose tooth. What could he do about that, though? _Was_ there anything he could do? 

Maybe if he started eating fish live, he could avoid needing or feeling the urge to eat anything with a person-like face - or a person without a person-like face. He certainly didn’t _want_ to eat people, but he saw how far Not-Alice had fallen, and he feared profoundly that he was next. He’d already sort of absorbed some Butchers, hadn’t he? Even though the true Butcher Gang were definitely in the ink, the thought of it was a chilled, squirmy weight in his gut.

He didn’t want to be a monster - but he also didn’t want to admit that he might be. He oughtn’t hide it, but what if his friends didn’t want to stay near him if there was that danger? He’d already been locked away and abandoned for far less before, and by the very man who’d wanted him brought to the studio in the first place. Maybe he could just… try to work this out on his own unless something else came up, or he couldn’t work it out on his own after all.

His somewhat grim train of thought was cut off with the sort of abruptness he should really have come to expect by now - in this case, by the sudden meeting of Norman’s halted back and his own still-ambling form. He squawked, little globlets of loose ink flying through the air as he whirled his arms in search of balance. Norman’s speaker crackled a startled noise, the projectionist managing to brace with a hand on the frame of something solid. "͞͞S̸͡o͝rr̢͞y̢!̢͝" Bendy exclaimed, immediately apologetic. "W͢hy͏'̴r͜ę ͘w͝e ͟sto̷ppin̕g͞?"̢ They’d taken breaks before, yes, but someone usually said something about it before they actually called a halt.

Was this a bad sign? It sure _felt_ like one - quintessentially so, as though he’d walked into a thriller novel right at a tense part rather than a cartoon.  _“The lift’s not here…”_ Norman murmured, while a sense of faint embarrassment trickled through Bendy. If he’d been paying attention, he should have noticed the lift area through Sammy’s mask. _That_ was why they’d stopped.  _“The button push isn’t working - I think she’s taken control of the lift.”_

A worried pause hung in the air as they digested this, underpinned by the faint drips of ink from a nearby corner of the ceiling. It lent a slithery, clinging-creeping sort of feeling, like a slow, leathery flap of something inching up their backs. Sammy’s mask turned, shifting Bendy’s field of view between himself and Norman, both of them looking as uneasy as the echoes from the musician’s mind whispered that he was. “I vote we just… don’t use the lift again, just in case. There’s no telling where she’d send us.”

Bendy nodded immediately - that was _definitely_ not a risk he wanted to take. Norman added his own agreement, and the matter was settled - but was there still a clear stairway up from this level? They’d have to check.


	12. Hidden Bounty

The search for stairs dragged on for illusory ages, a yawning trudge that stodgily demanded each nook and niche be investigated. Was this poster hiding a button? What if that crate was hiding a vent? Could there be a hidden button in a woody knot on the exposed boards of the walls? Thus far, none of these had yielded any results.

Quite understandably frustrated, Sammy grumbled in a gruff undertone, wondering whether perhaps the stairs had somehow vanished entirely. Now, that wasn’t exactly something stairs were _normally_ inclined to do - a staircase was hardly likely to fancy a bit of a wander and pop off to have a chat with the next stairway up, now was it? Well, maybe. The way things were going, Sammy wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster up much surprise if they _did_ stumble upon such a thing. Nonetheless, they had to make a thorough check - better than finding out after much faffing about that they’d missed the stairs in a false cupboard or something.

A harsh metal screech clawed him out of his doldrums, accompanied by a hissing sound of immediate regret - he whirled around to see what was making all that racket, hands clasped over where his ears had been as he winced. Bendy’s claws rent through the metal casing of a vending machine he’d seized, quite possibly to check for something hidden. The noise was loud, shrill and grating - but though Bendy seemed distressed by the sound he’d made, Norman didn’t seem too bothered by it. Perhaps his hearing was dimmer with that projector for a head - or maybe he’d spotted what had begun to spill out!

There _was_ food in the vending machines! He and Norman rushed towards Bendy, whose startled wince had melded into something rather more smug, a sense of satisfaction rippling through the ink while Sammy stooped to scrabble up the packets of precious variety. The long-lost crinkle of packaging in his hands was enthralling, and he couldn’t help staring at the bounty Bendy had uncovered for them. “Good job, Bendy...” He murmured softly, running a thumb over the thin-packaged end of what he dearly hoped was still a chocolate bar. Had they actually had chocolate bars? He chose to believe that they had, eagerly tearing into his prize while Bendy’s delighted purr rumbled close by. The contents gleamed darkly with freedom from the wrapper, and Sammy took a moment just to admire it. How long had it been since he’d had anything resembling a bar of chocolate? He was almost afraid to bite down on it, in case all he could taste was ink – but how could he resist? Sinking his teeth into the bar, he was _not_ disappointed. Whether it was _exactly_ like regular chocolate or not, he honestly couldn’t tell, but it was more than good enough.

A sort of wistful whirring drew his attention from the warm, silky flavour caressing his tastebuds, and he glanced across to see what the matter was. Oh. Oh how could he have forgotten? Norman didn’t have a mouth to savour any of this with. A tickle of guilt at the back of his mind, Sammy paused to ask whether there was anything he could do to help. Norman hesitated, seeming a little sheepish himself, before slowly nodding.  _“Do you remember what I said about communicating with the searchers?”_ Sammy perked up at this, nodding – he’d not quite forgotten, but the prospect of learning had dropped from the forefront of his mind with everything else that’d been going on. There was a pulse of intrigue from Bendy’s direction, too, the demon pausing in his ravaging of piled up packets of nuts and jerky to listen in.

His audience rapt, Norman shifted a bit in place, awkward, before beginning his explanation.  _“Well, searchers usually have trouble speaking aloud, and the open ink is far too full of screaming to use for conversation, but direct contact ink to ink can bypass all that.”_ He began with a creak, gesticulating vaguely with a little box of raisins. _“ If you focus enough on what you want to say or show to someone, you can kind of… er… pool it into drips or blobs of ink to pass to someone for them to absorb to get a copy of that memory or thought.” _ With memories as fragile to the ink as they were, it made sense to share them around, to protect them and fill in gaps for those who’d lost them. That, and it _was_ a fairly good nonverbal form of communication for those who couldn’t speak, nor see to use sign even if they’d known it.

Sammy took a moment to digest this, writing himself a little reminder to tuck away nice and safe for next time. He had a distinct feeling that he knew where this was going, in context. “So… if, for example, I wanted to share a memory of this chocolate bar, I could focus like we do for the inkstepping, but on how it tastes and how I want to share it?” He asked slowly, watching as his friend’s light visibly brightened, a whirr escaping with the accompanying nod. Well, that was encouragement enough for Sammy, a sense of determination bubbling up in him. Norman had gone without flavour for too long already – he wasn’t going to miss out on _chocolate,_ not on Sammy’s watch. It was a minor thing to fix his stubbornness on, but the way Norman’s whole posture lifted with hope – well, he couldn’t _not_ do all he could to help him out, now could he?

Taking another luxurious bite, to make sure the memory was as fresh as possible, Sammy held the thought of the chocolate up in his mind, dwelling on every detail as though he was going to write a song about it (not a bad idea, actually). He focused hard on all of this, and on his desire to share it with his friend, visualising the memory as a sort of blob. A distinctly weird, bubbling sensation from his shoulder drew him out of his task, bemusedly reaching up. There was a weird, squishy lump there, which came away painlessly in his hand. That was… kind of gross, but it _did_ line up with what Norman had told him. Offering it over, he could ignore the oddness and… squishiness of this as he took in the brightening of Norman’s light. The projectionist grasped the sludgy ooze-blob with eager swiftness, squeezing it and whirring delightedly as it seeped into his hand.  _“Thank you...”_ He murmured, crackle-voiced and touched.  _“It’s delicious...”_


	13. Progress and Discomfort

Although their detour had bourne such delicious rewards, there didn’t seem to be a staircase up anywhere. Needless to say, this was somewhat frustrating. Sure, they  _ could _ try inkstepping up, but that was still quite a tiring option to rely on. Bendy grumbled in an undertone as he slapped at a poster to see whether there was anything behind it. Their current course of action felt pointless by now – there was no way they were going to find stairs at this point. As he muttered, though, an idea began to crystallise in his mind. When he’d been rescued, he and Sammy had been flung up from one floor to another – so why not try that? Sure, the ceiling here was intact  _ now, _ but it didn’t have to  _ stay _ that way…

A broad, mischievous grin spread across his features, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Norman and Sammy still seemed to be re-checking a cupboard up ahead, but that was ok. His current form was painfully twisted, but he  _ could _ reach things in high places much more easily now that he’d grown, so to speak. In fact, as he batted experimentally at the space above him, he could feel his claws brush against rough wood even without jumping for it. Assured that he was on the right track, Bendy struck in earnest. Wood splintered and cracked, dust showering the demon – followed by a downpour of lukewarm ink as the patch of ceiling gave way. Bendy yelped – he’d forgotten that the floor above was flooded.

“Bendy! Are you okay?” Sammy gasped, skidding over hurriedly to tug him out of the flow, Norman only a few feet behind him. In answer, Bendy grinned gooily at them and made a grab for Sammy when he was close enough. Lifting the startled musician, he hurled him up through the hole in the ceiling, finding the strained cat noise he made quite entertaining. Norman seemed to realise what was going on, a staticked sound of realisation crackling from his speaker as he was hoisted up and flung. Ohh, that was entertaining… Funny though, he’d thought it’d take more effort… Maybe he was stronger than he’d realised?

His grin glistening, still sort of stained by the pouring ink,  Bendy leapt upward. His off leg was lanced with pain, cramping in protest as though it were trying to crush his bones – but he was able to easily grab onto the edge, hauling his spindly frame up. The boards’ splintered edges were already coated in a squidgy, congealed layer of ink, protecting his hands as he clambered up. It was almost as though it was healing itself… Deciding on a whim to help, Bendy shoved a nearby crate he could see through the spluttering Sammy’s mask into the hole, plugging the flow. If they wound up needing a quick way down again, they could just uncork that. Quite pleased with himself, Bendy trilled gooily, horns perked up and waggling a bit.

“ _I suppose I should’ve expected this sooner or later.”_ Norman chuckled ruefully, wiping the last dregs of splashed ink from his speaker.  _ “Thanks for the lift.” _ He’d done well! The affirmation warmed Bendy’s heart, and he jigged about in a sort of little happy dance. Turning to Sammy, he wasn’t disappointed by the response he received – Sammy was proud of him too! He also seemed kind of impressed with Bendy’s strength, from the feel of his presence in their link. Was he really all that strong? Well… Norman  _ did  _ have a fair bit of weight to him… It was hard to be sure, but perhaps he’d have further opportunities to figure that out.

Their new surroundings were somewhat eerie, he began to realise as his initial glee gave way to observation. Beginning to register all those flickering, looping screens, Bendy’s horns drooped gradually. This was why he’d never really spent much time watching this floor – it was too much like the throneroom he’d been languishing in for most of his life. “Is something wrong?” Sammy asked gently, concern in his tone. The soft touch of his friend’s hand in his helped him to focus away from the screens, and he squeezed Sammy’s hand lightly.

Norman, who’d begun to lead onwards sloshily, paused as well to peer back. Self-conscious, Bendy whined, not entirely sure how to express himself. Norman’s hand came to rest on his shoulder – how had he got that close again without Bendy’s notice? He couldn’t just say nothing, not with such concern wafting from his friends, but words crumbled chokingly in his throat. A reedy thin sound drifted from somewhere – was that him? It sounded so distant… Little splatters of ink dripped onto his chest, and two warm sets of arms wrapped around his jittery form, enfolding him safe and secure in the now where he was cared about and free.


	14. Hunger Lurking

They hadn’t lingered long in the depths of Norman’s flickery haunt, not after realising what it was that bothered Bendy about it. Neither Sammy nor Norman wanted to make him feel trapped again, after all. While they _had_ remained, however, Bendy had stumbled upon something else that had complicated his tangled-up emotions even further. Lagging behind the others due to his slower pace, he’d stubbed his toe on an oddly hidden crate, justling the loosely-placed lid from off of it. What lay within had stifled his urge to exclaim and draw the attention of the others. Through the flickering, dizzyingly moving gaze of all those animated images of himself, he could just about make out that the crate was filled with what he somehow recognised as inky hearts.

For a moment, he fully expected a wave of nausea to stagger him – but when the sharp tug in his guts came, it was his old ‘friend’, ravenous hunger. The need clawed at his insides, as though his shrivelled stomach was a feral imp clambering up his spine from inside him. When had he picked up the crate? He thought about throwing it – but his friends would surely notice and ask questions he _really_ didn’t want to answer. Well, maybe he could just… set it down, and pretend he’d never even noticed it? His fingers refused to unclench, claws digging into the wood near-desperately.

What could he do? He couldn’t just carry it with him, and he wasn’t sure he could wolf it all down before someone turned around to check on him! As his frantic mind whirled, something just seemed to _click._ The crate in his hands vanished with its slimy load, the weight lifting from his hands. Where had it gone? Before he could relax too far into relief, Bendy realised that he could still kind of feel that crate lurking, as though focusing on it just a little too hard could summon it up from whatever depth it had been so mercifully banished to. Confusion still battering at his attention, he did his best to wrench his mind from the matter.

The beast in his belly growled in irascible protest, but Bendy hurried lollopingly on after his friends, who had just been stopping to check on him. “I̵ ͜j͜us͏t b̵umpe̶d ͢m͡y̷ f̵o͝ot͜ ͟agai͠n͠s̸t so͘me̵t̶hin̶g͟.” He explained, while his traitorous thoughts whispered their accusations of falsehood. He _wasn’t_ lying! Not a single thing he’d said wasn’t true! Again, the beast in his middle made its displeasure abundantly and impatiently clear, to Bendy’s dismay. Had those disturbingly delicious dolls really been that long ago? Hadn’t the vending machines made a difference after all? Norman’s hand gently landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Much as guilt at his deception was needling at him, he couldn’t help leaning a little into the touch, soaking up the comforting contact.

A can of soup was pressed into his ungloved hand – Sammy’s mind brushed against his, wafting assurance to him. He responded with a burst of inarticulate gratitude, stuffing the can into his face. Better to make a pig of himself than to have to answer questions, and though meagre, the soup _did_ help to soothe down the grumblings from his middle. “̸Th̡a͞n̢k ͟you͝.͡” He mumbled, feeling at least a little better. Being further away from those flickering screens was helping as well, relieving him from that layer of disorientation. His friends were clearly relieved too, twisting the knife of his festering little secret a little further. Nonetheless, he could smile convincingly now, and send waves of reassurance and thanks Sammy’s way. Nobody had to know. Everything was under control.

A gurgling moan drew him out of his funk, horns twisting towards the sound. A searcher, wracked with the pain of their existence. Sammy stepped rapidly back as they lurched, but this was still a close-up view for Bendy. He wasn’t sure how much detail whoever this was had lost, but as they were now, they seemed… melted, more so than the lost. Like him, they were missing their eyes – he felt a momentary flicker of kinship – but the moment passed as Norman lightly tossed a blob of ink into the searcher’s gaping maw, stopping them in their tracks. Was that a memory? Was Norman talking to them? It was a good shot, that much was sure.  _“There, now, it’s okay...”_ Norman murmured, keeping his tone soft and as free of static as he could manage.  _“We aren’t going to hurt you, it’s safe...”_

Gradually, while Bendy and Sammy watched in joint fascination, the searcher relaxed as Norman’s soothing words washed over them. The projectionist knelt, still murmuring softly and offering the searcher a hug. Bendy knew just how comforting those were, a fleeting sense of satisfaction crossing his mind as the searcher accepted Norman’s offer. They’d be finding out how nice those were too, now.


	15. To Give a Name

The searcher seemed far gladder for their company than Sammy had thought to expect, considering how his poor band had reacted to him – but perhaps that had only been because he hadn’t known how to talk to them? Had he actually tried to reason with them..? If singing worked, perhaps he should have tried leading into a discussion… No, no wait, he’d been terrified. He couldn’t castigate himself for something like that. A little awkwardly, he accepted what Norman informed him would be the closest the searcher had to an introduction right now – namely, a fresh glop of ink.

As the warm glob seeped into his hand, a sense of surprised greeting echoed through him, as though someone had somehow made a recording of a link like he and Bendy’s. Mental images, some indistinct, began to swim through his mind – a giggling child hoisted in arms that weren’t his, watching a movie with that freckled flutist (Megan, right?), a blurred, light-haired and spectacled face in the mirror, a voice slurred as if through water as it called a name that sounded something like ‘smmn’, a desk bearing rough storyboards… Sammy’s eyes would have widened if he’d had them – he  _ recognised _ this searcher!

“Simon! You’re Simon, from the Animation department! You’re Megan Wainright’s husband!” He exclaimed, causing Simon to jolt in surprise, gawping at him and making urgent and rather squelchy-sounding grabby hand motions. Taking this to mean Simon was asking for the memory to back this up, Sammy focused, pooling memories of times he’d seen Simon coming to pick Megan up into a slime glob in his hand. He had only fragments of each, but he recalled hearing them greet one another by name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to  _ throw _ this accretion of memories, so instead he pressed it into one of those grabby hands.

Though he couldn’t speak, Simon was still quite expressive – Sammy could see the moment recognition and relief washed across the former animator’s features. An approving purr resonated softly from Bendy not far away, and Norman’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, solid and warm. He felt quite warm inside, too – he’d given someone back their  _ name, _ a part of this poor soul’s very self that had been eroded away. That… was a very good feeling indeed. Sticky arms wrapped around him, a sugar-rush buzz of gratitude seeping through his skin from the tight hug. Slowly, he began to pat Simon’s back, wondering whether there were many more forsaken souls he could give names to before his own memories of them faded.

“You’re welcome, Simon...” He murmured, with a distracted attempt to focus that thought into the ooziness of the hug. Quite apart from the profound moment, and the precious memories, this was also kind of disgusting. He could ignore that for the moment, though. Simon couldn’t help being gooey. “I’m Sammy, the music director. I didn’t know you very well, but I’m glad I could help you.” He added softly, realising he’d actually not introduced himself before he’d recognised Simon and gotten both of them distracted.

There was a flutter of familiarity, flickered glimpses of his own old appearance flitting through his mind’s eye. They were brief, blurred snatches, but nonetheless a relief – and though washed out, there was  _ colour. _ That was a rarity now, even in his own mind, he realised with some unease. Even in these memory snippets, most of the hue he could see lay in golden ranges. It was enough to tell for sure, though, that his hair had been honey, some shade between blond and brown – and he’d had  _ freckles. _ He’d forgotten those…

“That’s… me… Thank you...” He murmured, holding onto those brief images and hoping he’d be able to keep them. Maybe he ought to ask Norman whether he had any to share? They could swap snippets, reinforce each other’s memories – but that could perhaps wait a little bit. Slowly, he disengaged himself from Simon’s hug, patting him on the shoulder. He could see Bendy wanting to introduce himself as well, and he didn’t want to be slimy any more. Well, no more than he had to be. At least since Simon couldn’t  _ see _ him trying to clean himself afterwards, he probably wouldn’t be offended.

Whatever was in Bendy’s glop of introduction, it seemed to rather excite the searcher – well, Sammy supposed that was understandable under the circumstances. Bendy  _ was, _ after all, one of a very select set, none of whom’d had a physical, living presence in this world before. Sammy was no longer really sure they hadn’t been real before  _ somewhere. _ After all, Bendy remembered his toon days, had even told them stories about events that had never been in the show proper. Why  _ couldn’t _ they have been real before? If men and women could become inky but living creatures, why  _ not _ have realms of cartoons actually living? A shame they couldn’t see it – he was sure it’d be much nicer than the studio.

Eventually, after promising to remember him to Megan if they recognised her, Sammy and the others bade Simon farewell. Hopefully, he’d be able to find his way down to the village somehow, based on the directions Norman globbed up for him. Then, with any luck, he wouldn’t have to worry about the angel’s hunting so much. All in all, Sammy felt quite good about how this encounter had gone, but the time had come again to move on.


	16. Connection Issues

It was easier to find stairs from past his flickering haunt – Norman recalled that quite clearly – but that didn’t mean these halls were _safer._ _“Hide!”_ Butchers roamed in great numbers, agitated. For some reason, though, they seemed to forget they’d seen noticed if their quarry could hide, especially if they did so in a particular kind of hidey-hole – Miracle Stations. He’d heard whisperings of those before, had even seen them – though oddly they didn’t seem to register in his on-automatic memories. The door thudded shut, concealing Sammy – had he muttered something about toilets?

The horde was still approaching, but he wouldn’t fit into a station with Sammy. Bendy ripped some of the sides from some crates – when had he picked _those_ up? Darkness – had he just stacked them over him? Well, that could work. Not as surefire as a Miracle Station, but if the Butchers didn’t _see_ him, he probably didn’t need the same angelic enchantments he’d heard speculation of. Concealed, he sighed. This wasn’t even the first time they’d nearly been swarmed on this floor. Considering how Butchers generally operated, and that their lack of a proper search pattern remained consistent, it seemed rather unlikely that they were coming out en mass to hunt them specifically.

As inky patterns spidered across the ceiling he could just about tilt his head up enough to see, he wondered what had set them bubbling forth like this. The most obvious explanation he could think of was that the angel had something to do with it – who _else_ specifically wanted them dead? It wasn’t one of her more elaborate ploys, but considering how recently and how grievously she’d been injured, he doubted intricacy was really on her mind right now. The ink patterns faded, accompanied by a rather resonant belch – had that been Bendy? Norman had to stifle an incredulous little laugh, not wanting to make the demon feel more self-conscious than he already was. It was certainly incongruous – unless maybe he’d decided to eat them the way he had the cherubs? He didn’t have long to think on that possibility, spindly arms lifting the crates from him. “W̶h̨e̵r͞e ̷di̷d͠ ̢Sammy g͢o̕?!”

For a moment, Norman fretted that something could have befallen their friend, possibilities flitting through his head like frantic flies – but the creak of a door forestalled his speculation. Bendy was upon the emerging musician in moments, checking him over as if he’d feared the worst, posture tense. Sammy himself was noticeably mirroring Bendy’s relief, though surely he’d have been able to see through the slot in the Miracle Station’s door, right? Drawing nearer, Norman joined Sammy in gently petting the demon, hoping to reassure at least one of them.  _“Are you two alright?”_ He asked quietly, with only a slight crackle. Whatever was going on, he wanted to know about it, particularly if that would help him to make sure they’d be okay in future.

To his relief, both of them gave him a nod, peering back at him as Sammy offered his shaky reply. “We’re okay, but… I don’t think I’ll be diving into any more of these outhouse-looking things.” Norman decided against addressing the lavatorial point, feeling it would only be a distraction, but he was quick to ask _why_ Sammy felt that way. After all, if something was wrong, he wanted to know about it – especially if it could unsettle both of his friends like this about a form of _shelter._

Sammy hesitated for a moment, while Bendy fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well… uh… Bendy and I, we have that connection I told you about, right?” At this, Norman nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. He could sort of guess, but he couldn’t be sure. What ever the case, it probably wasn’t a good sign that something stressing them was relevant to that connection. “Right, so… when I was in the outhouse, I _couldn’t feel Bendy,_ not at _all_ – and it turns out he couldn’t feel me, either, or see through my mask. I… couldn’t see through it, either. It was… really unsettling.” Whining softly, Bendy nodded his agreement. Now, normally it would be _not_ feeling someone else in your mind all the time that was normal, but it seemed as though nothing in the studio knew how to be normal any more. How disconcertingly contrary.

“ _Everything’s alright now, though, right?”_ Norman asked, glancing between the two. If there was a problem, he needed to know about it as soon as possible. To his relief, however, both demon and musician nodded, lifting the weight from his chest.  _“Okay, good… So we know for the future not to put either of you in a Miracle Station if we can help it.”_ Understandably enough, this drew emphatic nods. When it came to a connection that brought both of them comfort, it was hardly surprising that they wouldn’t want to jeopardise it. What they’d do next time there was a horde like that was unclear, but at least they knew of this issue now. With a sound not unlike that of taking a deep breath, Norman decided to at least partially change the subject.  _“So, uh… we should probably be moving on now, while the going’s good.”_ He suggested, beckoning as he began to head towards the stairs again.

To his relief, there didn’t seem to be anything to prevent them from moving on this time – though every unexpected creak or groan from the floorboards still raised his hackles. There also didn’t seem to be any more searchers roaming around – they must all be hiding in their puddles, he mused. It made for quite an eerie atmosphere, ratcheting up the tension that filled the stale air. The quiet didn’t help much, not when every step brought them closer to the ‘Angel’ and her lair. Why was she silent? Still licking her wounds? Norman had no doubt that she was watching them still. What could she be planning? Surely she wasn’t going to meekly make herself scarce – she was far too volatile for that even before her last, rather dramatic outing. No, Norman was _sure_ she was out for blood – but he didn’t know how she’d go about it in this new situation, and that unsettled him greatly.


	17. Splinters

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Bendy had suggested a game of I Spy on their way up. Perhaps it wasn’t the _wisest_ of ideas, but besides a few stretches of floor with loose nails strewn for unwary feet, it didn’t actually seem as though they were going to have any more trouble with the angel until they actually crossed her sanctuary. The waves of the Butcher Gang that had slowed their progress so greatly had all but ceased, dwindling to just the occasional trio. Norman had been reluctant to take up the game – but with Sammy’s backup, Bendy’d been able to convince him to agree.

It was Sammy’s turn right now, and Bendy was listening closely, horns perked up attentively. “I Spy, with my little eye, something beginning with...” There was a pause as Sammy peered around, and though he could see through the musician’s mask, Bendy couldn’t tell where _precisely_ his good friend was focusing. It was more fun not having the answer automatically, anyway, so Bendy didn’t mind that. “Something beginning with C!”

Rubbing the back of his head, little heeding the squishy shifting of ink under his fingers by now, Bendy pondered the puzzle. There were more than one ‘c’ word things around them, as Norman’s immediate guess of ‘crate’ demonstrated when the answer the demon voiced moments later was ‘cobweb’. He was rather proud of that one, but Sammy shook his head as they strolled. ‘Can’ wasn’t it this time either – in fact, as Sammy gleefully informed them when both had run out of guesses, the correct answer had been ‘ceiling’.

While he was a little disappointed not to have gotten it right, Bendy couldn’t help grinning at how pleased Sammy was at managing to bamboozle them. From the tinny chuckling Norman’s chest emitted, he could tell he wasn’t the only one finding this endearing, too. Well, it was his turn now – maybe he could amuse Norman and see if Sammy would squeak if the answer was ‘cute’? Would that count, or would he have to make it a two word one for ‘cute friend’? Laughing a little to himself, he-  **_RATTATTATTATT!_** Loud – percussive – pain – crack – _splinter – PAIN-_

His ink pulsed, shivering out into his familiar, throbbing aura. The noise – so loud – still puncturing him – his cutouts-his-eyes – ANGEL! His friends’ voices reached him as though through liquid, muffled and indistinct. He’d crumpled, curled in on himself – she wasn’t going to _stop._ Did she know? Was she just destroying for its own sake? He couldn’t tell – he could hardly hold the thought in his boiling mind. He had to MAKE IT STOP – he had to go – he had to GO-

He barely registered shoving arms aside as he barrelled for the wall. The impact jolted through his frame, the tranquil softness of the inkspace totally lost on him. Surging out at a lopsided run, he reached out, hands grasping. His tormentor’s startled gasp was close – his horns picked it up quite clearly, though his eyes lay shattered on the ground.

Rapid footfalls – _close_ – something stung, slamming against him, loud crackack sounds ahead. _Pain –_ how dare – why – **_rage_ ** – the slam-pting-bangs peppered him, thunderclaps inside his skull, but he didn’t slow. He couldn’t see her, but he could _hear_ her, could feel echoes of her panic through the spiderings of his ink aura. _“Stay back!”_ Her voice caught, though laced with familiar modulations of compulsion. Perhaps if he hadn’t been too out of himself to register her words as words, it might even have worked. Instead, he roared back at her, voice frothing with unearthly echoing undertones as he slashed out ahead of him.

A wooden slam – gone? Gone? Gone? Gone? Bendy paused, cocking his head. Where? He couldn’t feel that echoed panic, couldn’t hear footfalls. He was just aware enough to realise he couldn’t have caught her, but the shatter-pain and noise-pain still tore too much at his mind to allow him to realise what she must have done. Too many parts of himself had been reduced to splinters all at once – he couldn’t think past it, not yet. What he _did_ have, however, was a clawing, grasping hunger – and he had food on him.

Hearts hearts hearts – filled with magic, filled with spent life – he gorged messily, barely two feet away from the Miracle Station he couldn’t properly perceive, completely oblivious to the petrified angel quivering wide-eyed and breathless within. Once he was done, Bendy abandoned the splintered wreckage of the crate and cutout fragments behind, straightening up to lurch onward, lumpy goo still dripping from his face. He had been heading upward before – maybe his foe had gone that way? He didn’t have any better impulses, so he lumbered on.

Something was wrong. Of course something was wrong – he hurt! Wrong wrong what was wrong? Pain! Pain was wrong! Something _else_ was wrong. Didn’t catch! Angel gone! That was wrong too, of course it was, but that _wasn’t it!_ His overtaxed mind wrestled with this puzzle as he staggered towards the end of the angel’s territory, distracting him from corpses he might otherwise have scavenged upon.

The more the ruined cutouts slowly regenerated, the more processing power his mind regained to work with, awareness gradually waxing as the agony waned. His agitated, gurgling growls dwindled to a faint whimper, and he stopped. _He_ was what was wrong. His mind might not have been in top condition, but his recent memory was _just fine._ Not only had he shoved and abandoned his friends, which was bad enough, but he’d gone _hunting_ for the angel. What he’d have done if he’d caught her, he wasn’t sure, but he doubted it’d have been pretty…

Perhaps it was a good thing he’d brought those hearts with him – he felt a sickly sense of certainty that he’d have gone on a rather broader hunt if not. What if he’d hurt his friends, or some poor lost or searching soul? A Boris? It didn’t bear thinking about. Sinking to the floor, he huddled in a whimpering crumple, growing more and more afraid of himself.


	18. How Far Will You Go?

To say that Sammy was shaken by recent events would be a terrible understatement. The waves of pain rolling from Bendy had very nearly floored him even before the demon had so energetically thrown he and Norman aside, and the feeling he described moments later as he leaned against Norman for support was one of hollow dizziness. Distress at the sounds, both of Bendy’s friends could understand – especially as that had very clearly been _gunfire_ somehow – but why had it _hurt_ their friend like that, when he’d been nowhere near any bullets? It had been as though something had begun relentlessly tearing away at the fabric of Bendy’s mind.

Sammy had wanted to set off after him at once – of course he had, Bendy _needed_ them! Norman, however, had been quite firm that Sammy needed to recover first, and had proceeded to sit on him in order to prevent him from haring off recklessly. When Norman sat on someone, they _stayed_ sat upon, at least until he deigned to move. To Norman’s relief, it wasn’t too long before Sammy had to admit that he had a point – Sammy wouldn’t be much good to Bendy if he could barely stride ten paces without landing on his arse, and they both knew it. This reasonability was frankly a relief – with one of their number already behaving recklessly, they didn’t need to split their party further and risk losing one another.

With the situation somewhat less quarrelsome, discussion of how to proceed was rendered much easier (partly as whatever passed for Sammy’s lungs these days were no longer under pressure from Norman’s rear). If they couldn’t go to Bendy, well, they needed to find a way to bring Bendy back to them. Calling out wasn’t going to work – he’d been moving faster than either of them had seen him going before, so it was more likely that some hostile creature driven out by Bendy’s pellmell charge would be in range to hear them than Bendy himself. No, they needed another way – a _safer_ way – but what?

It was actually Norman who’d come up with the brainwave of trying to summon him – an elegant solution, if one fraught with many storied dangers. Bendy _was,_ after all, a _demon_ – if he was a real live demon with a tangible tie to stories, then it stood to reason that he’d obey at least some narrative rules from those stories, right? Summoning did tend to be a big part of such tales, so there was at least some hope that they could do something in that vein. Not to mention, there was a whole lot less physical exertion involved in trying to create a summoning circle than in trying to actually tail their rampaging friend. What would make for a good summoning where Bendy was concerned, though? Sammy was quite adamant that some form of candles were essential, for one thing – which kind of did make sense in context with the great many dramatically dribbly candles depicted in demon summoning scenes.

Were it not for Sammy’s magpie tendencies, this would have been rather problematic, as trying to find everything they’d need while who-knew-what was wrong with Bendy would be something of a time crunch, inexorably compressing moments like a garbage compacter. However, the musician had, as Norman discovered to his faintly exasperated wonder, swiftly picked up the habit of slipping anything at least slightly portable that caught his attention into overall pockets that probably shouldn’t actually have held even half as much as he was prone to stuffing into them. It _was_ right and sensible to carry things of potential use in a survival situation, but being able to produce six candles from one’s person on request without hesitation or even any discernible change in the shape of one’s pockets was admittedly a bit more on the odd side. At least they hadn’t emerged already lit – that would have been dangerous besides.

Blood was another constant of demonic involvement in stories – not quite as much as in vampiric stories, admittedly, but though memories of specific stories and plotlines faded, both Norman and Sammy were fairly sure blood was often involved with the summoning or contracting of demons. However, neither one of them really _had_ blood any more. There was something of an awkward silence, a lull in their plotting as Sammy fidgeted worriedly with his overall straps, not meeting the projectionist’s light. However, Norman had an idea – they might not have _blood,_ but their ink might do, as it was the substance they were made of, and arguably their lifeblood. They could crush memory globs of their will to call Bendy back to them safely into the ink they’d be using to draw the circle – an idea Sammy latched onto at once as not only poetic but rather fitting (not to mention more of a relief than he was willing to admit).

There was still a crucial element missing from their little recipe for a summoning ritual, however – an ingredient common to so many demon summonings in fiction it almost went without saying. Namely, the sacrifice. It was an uneasy sort of prospect, even considering how dire the day to day situation in the studio was, let alone whatever was happening to Bendy – but if they wanted their friend back safe and well… it could well be necessary.

“Edgar’s the most… thematically appropriate...” Sammy murmured, his voice a little shaky, gaze fixed upon the patterns of ink he was scrawling across the floor from where he was crouched rather than on his friend. “He’s the closest counterpart to Bendy the Butchers have, and… he’s not really in there…” There was something a touch queasy about Sammy’s voice and posture as he spoke, a lingering reluctance to knowingly and deliberately kill expressing itself. Norman gave him a gentle, sympathetic pat on the shoulder, somewhat conflicted himself as he hushedly murmured that they could make it quick. That idea seemed to help somewhat, Sammy nodding as he completed the summoning circle he’d been trying to copy down from moth-eaten memories of the episode that had seen Bendy and Boris winding up in hell. That had been an oddly prophetic episode, come to think of it – except that no aid could be expected from Alice’s quarter _this_ time.

Norman, once he had assurance that Sammy was okay to carry on, if not wholly comfortable, lumbered heavy-heartedly away to hunt down a shambler. It wasn’t a comfortable sort of act for Norman, either – but in a place like this, if you wanted to hang onto those you cared about, you had to be willing to get your hands dirty, even if you hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Norman never usually sought out a fight – he was more inclined to live and let live, unless he felt threatened – but he did have a plan.

Lingering near a Miracle Station, Norman rattled a can along the floor, the sound jangling loudly through the still air, until he could just about hear the telltale distorted mithering and tooth-chattering of the Butchers on the approach. Then, he lay in wait inside the tiny shelter, somewhat cramped in as a full trio gathered grimily around the can. They poked it about for a bit, before the Charley among them picked it up and began to lead onwards. Just as in the show, their Edgar tended to trail a little behind – and as soon as it was only he in arms’ reach, Norman struck. Lunging out, he grabbed the little distorted spider, ignoring the squawk of protest and attempts at biting as he dragged him back into the (now even tighter) confines of his hiding place. The spider fell quite limp once inside, to Norman’s guilty relief as he waited for the confused panic of the Butchers to give way to aimless wandering again.

Once he was sure they were gone, he adjusted his grip on the Edgar, to stifle movement and sound as best he could, before hurrying back out. His captive began to writhe again as soon as they were out. It felt _wrong_ – like a kidnapping, even though he knew full well that this wasn’t really Edgar, or any solely-seated person within Edgar’s mutilated shell. He wouldn’t have considered doing this to an _animal_ before, let alone whatever a Butcher even was these days, but he supposed grimly that desperation had a way of making monsters of those in its clutches. He couldn’t blame desperation alone, though, and he wasn’t going to try. They _could_ have tried to pursue Bendy, or wait for him, but they’d made this call – and Norman still believed it was their best option, for all that his heart felt made of lead.

The candles were lit when he found Sammy again, an eerie muttering in the air – Sammy always had been one for dramatic atmosphere, and Norman supposed that if this had to be done, it may as well be done _right._ Feeling like an accomplice to murder – or perhaps desecration of a walking corpse – Norman pressed the thrashing and spitting Edgar down onto the circle. His position made it difficult to see Sammy, but he could hear – almost feel – the creak of the floorboards as Sammy took his position, could hear the muttering grow loud enough to make out the words of the improvised verse cribbed heavily from both hymns and the songs of the show.

Norman tried not to flinch as fresh, hot ink splattered against his body – he was part of this, and he had to accept all that came with it. The wet, meaty _thnk-splllt_ wasn’t a sound Norman was likely to forget in a hurry, for all that the studio had been sipping at everyone’s minds thirstily since the flood. From the way Sammy’s hands trembled as he dropped the soiled axe with a clatter, it looked as though that was something they had in common. Norman ached to wrap his arms around him, to comfort him (and himself) that it was going to be alright – but this wasn’t over, the moment not yet passed.

As the twitching ceased, a crackling electric hum began to buzz through the floorboards beneath the circle – which had begun to drink in any light that touched its spidery lines. The juddering grew so pronounced, it seemed as though the very floor would collapse. Norman stood and stepped back hurriedly, tugging Sammy back with him. _Bright!_ A flash of golden-white light, as though lightning had struck, followed by a second or two of absolute darkness even Norman’s light couldn’t pierce. Then, as the dingy light of the studio seeped back, the results of their grisly endeavour became apparent. Where the corpse of the unfortunate Edgar had been, a crumpled, shaking figure sat whimpering, curled in on himself. Bendy had returned, whether he yet knew it or not.


	19. All Things Must Feed

Like Norman, Sammy had been… somewhat affected by the act of sacrifice they’d performed together. However, unlike his flickering friend, Sammy had been right at the crux of the ritual, the one to swing the blade and deliberately end what he could only assume to be a life… He’d known it would be taxing, another weight on his already strained mind, but he hadn’t anticipated that it might interact so closely and so chaotically with his connection to Bendy.

He’d been so completely poured into that flow, he’d been a floating mote in the ravening pit of Bendy’s hunger and fatigue as the sustenance and what he couldn’t avoid calling magic of the sacrifice melted into the demon’s being. It _helped_ \- it couldn’t ease Bendy’s fears or emotional strain, but it _nourished_ him. Sammy had _felt_ how desperately Bendy’s system had absorbed every little scrap of it. This was, for whatever reason, something his friend needed - _badly._

His fingers still trembled as he rushed to the demon’s side, the darkly glistening things he’d bared to the light still hanging in his mind’s eye, but it was _worth_ the potential nightmares and the ink on his hands - _Bendy was back._ Norman’s quiet advice to be gentle hadn’t been quite lost on him, thankfully, and he remembered to make sure Bendy knew he was coming with a gentle broadcast of intent, to avoid startling him further.

A wave of sickly fear rebuffed him before he could wrap his arms around the demon - he paused, halting his rush in order to slowly sit beside Bendy. “It’s just me and Norman…” He murmured, taken aback by the miasma of dread rolling from Bendy. Why was he so afraid? No sooner had the querying thought crossed his mind than a burst of images hammered themselves into his mind with the force of a vicious hangover - lost and searchers mangled and melting - Alice and Boris as they’d once been, mauled in a flash - Sammy embracing him and being absorbed as the Butchers so often were - Norman with his projector head smashed, his body lying hollowed out on the floor-

Sammy had to stem the tide himself, doing his best to counter his friend’s waking nightmare with reassurance and care while Norman slowly sat at Bendy’s other side, seeming to realise that Bendy wasn’t ready to accept a hand on his shoulder yet this time. “You… you don’t have to go through this alone, Bendy…” Sammy tried softly, his voice still shaky. “We’re here for you… and that’s not about to change now…”

A whine seeped from the demon’s clenched and vibrating rictus grin, laced with pulsing threads of guilt and anxiety that burrowed painfully through Sammy’s mind. An image squirmed into his head, one depicting Bendy with the injury he’d inflicted on the angel, cackling and setting loose a horde of needled plushes of himself. Dread overlaid the image, with a strange sense of ticking. “You’re _nothing_ like her!” Sammy exclaimed in an appalled whisper, trying to counter with an image of how gentle Bendy had been with Simon not so long before. “You _care_ \- you don’t set out to taunt or torment anyone, or - or strap them to tables and do who-knows-what to them!”

Norman, at this point, lightly rolled a glob of memory ink towards the demon, interrupting what seemed to have been a broadcast involving a crate filled with inky hearts. Sammy wasn’t sure what the glob contained, but since Bendy was accepting it, maybe he’d accept some from Sammy, too? They were more focused than flickered thoughts across the link… Bit by bit, Sammy did his best to dredge up every scrap of positive memories he had of the demon to condense into glops. He was determined to show Bendy how _good_ and how _cherished_ he was. All his countless moments of gentleness, of goofiness, of care and so much else - Sammy doubted he could pin them all down, but Norman hadn’t stopped rolling globs, so maybe he’d be able to cover any moments Sammy missed?

As determined as they were to show Bendy that whatever was happening to him didn’t define him, they did have to pause from time to time to give the overwhelmed demon a moment or three to process everything they were sharing with him. A puddle of thin, runny ink had begun to pool on the floor beneath Bendy’s dripping face, but his trembling was gradually slowing as the memories washed through him - an encouraging sign, Sammy hoped.

As he and Norman watched, Bendy haltingly began to uncurl, producing a reedy keening sound as he opened his arms for them. His fear still hung heavy in the air, but neither Sammy nor Norman began to melt when they shuffled in close to cuddle their ailing companion. All might not have been well, by any stretch of the imagination, but they had one another and that was something.

The huddled trio remained in place for what felt like quite a while, holding one another close. It helped, at least a little - a small refuge from the cares of their hellscape. Eventually, his claws a touch unsteady, the demon began to share blots of memory himself, not yet feeling up to speaking aloud. Though the anxiety rolling from him as he hesitantly shared his nuggets of information was clear, it was underlain by trust.

It hurt to feel how fearful Bendy had been about how he and Norman would react to the things he’d been hiding, but Sammy thought he could understand where he was coming from. Those _were_ rather worrying signs, especially with how what they now knew to be the angel’s violent attack on the cutouts had affected him. It was frightening, thinking of Bendy in a feral, ravenous state, but now that they _knew_ what could happen, they could take measures to mitigate things such as that.

“We’re still here for you…” Sammy murmured aloud, attempting to gently cup Bendy’s massive cheek. “We can get through this… The ritual - it helped, right? We can… we can do this sort of thing again, if it helps you…” It couldn’t prevent the angel from mowing down cutouts, but maybe it could help Bendy recover more quickly? Sammy wasn’t eager to bring his axe down on another helplessly pinned creature, but in amongst the guilt and fear and what he hoped wasn’t self-loathing he’d felt from Bendy, there had also been a flash of _repletion._

The sacrifice had _fed_ Bendy - significantly so, if he was any judge, and that was a bright side he could latch onto tightly, after all the worrying he’d had over the woeful state of Bendy’s nutrition. No wonder the soup hadn’t been able to keep him filled up, if what Bendy _really_ needed was ritual, was _sacrifice._ A hesitant, conflicted rumble seeped from Bendy’s chest, a note of hopefulness threading its way in. That was probably a good sign, right? Certainly if Bendy was feeling hopeful, that was an improvement…

Exchanging a look with Norman, Sammy was relieved to note agreement there, a slow but not begrudging nod greeting him.  _“You need what you need, that’s just how it is sometimes. Doesn’t mean you’re a wrong’un any more than eating rabbits makes a fox a wrong’un.”_ Norman contributed quietly, a little staticked, but with an even tone. It wasn’t a point Sammy had actually thought to make, but it made a reassuring amount of sense.

Slowly, he began to feel the echoes of similar reassurance rippling through the demon - not _entirely_ soothing away his worries, but making a significant dent in them. "̡͟T̸͞͠ḩa͜n̡k̛͢ yo̷͢͞u.̷͜.͜.̸͠"̛ Bendy gurgled at last, his voice thick and gloopy. "̸͝͝Sơ̴͢.̵̷͡.̸.̸ ̧͜s̕͘ǫ ̴̷m͢͠u͟͟c̸h̷.̧͜.̨͝͠.̶̨͜"


	20. Moving On

While it took some time for their little band to feel ready to move on, a good probably-night’s sleep had been a welcome balm. Lifting his head to listen more easily past the crate barricade they’d slept behind once the ambient light had grown dim, Bendy honestly wasn’t too sure how he felt. So much had happened, it was hard to really digest it all - unlike the, well, the sacrifice. That had been so easy to digest it would possibly have been laughable if it hadn’t been so grim. If the cherubs had been like catching angry, razor chickens to devour, that sacrifice had been more like being served a slap up meal cooked and prepared, without having to exert himself at all for it.

There wasn’t really any denying that it was good for him now - and his friends _knew_ it. They knew about his dreadful appetite, and they had _fed_ it rather than fleeing from him. To say that it was a huge relief was something of an understatement - he felt almost as though he might start to float, with how much leaden weight had lifted from him. He found himself oddly giddy, just… revelling in the incredible thought that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

There didn’t seem to be anyone (or anything) stirring around, the only sounds a faint snuffling from Sammy and the slightly clunked shifting of Norman rolling over. They sounded so peaceful… It meant a lot, knowing they still felt safe sleeping like this by his side. Another pleasant surprise lay in the state of his gut - he was still relatively full after that sacrifice, only the faintest twinges of hunger prickling indistinctly, like an afterthought of the gut. It was more than simply a good feeling, being nigh replete - it was an unfamiliar but incredible satisfaction, buoying him up. He’d forgotten how it felt to _not_ be racked by his stomach’s demands. How long was it likely to last, though..?

Feeling _great_ like this was amazing for its own sake, and it was tempting to just… relax and enjoy it. However, Bendy felt that what he _really_ wanted was to do some good with his current sufficiency of energy - if he had it, shouldn’t he use it while it lasted? To do otherwise might be wasteful, especially considering where that energy had come from in the first place. It would be disrespectful to both his friends and the unfortunate Butcher to _not_ do anything with the energy they’d granted him. Were his friends still sleeping? Sammy’s mind still lay in fog, when he gently brushed against their link, and Norman didn’t appear any more wakeful. _Good._ He grinned broadly as he slowly-slowly lifted them, one at a time, to drape over his skinny shoulders. He had an idea for a wonderful surprise~

Once he had them securely in his arms, Bendy took a moment to breathe, focusing his attention and energy upon the view from the cutouts on Sammy’s floor. Then, careful not to jostle the warm heaps of slumbering ink in his grasp too much, he stepped through the nearest wall with them. He’d been getting better at this particular trick over time, and as he strode out from the wet-silk dark, he found to his surprised gratification that the feat hadn’t actually drained him all that much, even when carrying passengers. What fantastic luck! He rather thought they deserved some luck like that, after all they’d been through.

Carefully lowering his slumbering charges onto the floor of Sammy’s sanctuary - which had seemed to him to be the most sensible destination - Bendy rumbled warmly in his chest. Whether it was the sound of his purring or the motion of being placed down again, it was unclear - but as he listened, Bendy could hear his friends begin to stir. "͜G̸oơd m̕or͝nin̷g̡~"͟ He purred, his tone quite distinctly self-satisfied. Oh, he was sure they’d be surprised, and he was most definitely looking forward to their confused reactions.

“You sound like you’re feeling better…” Sammy mumbled, stretching as he pulled himself into wakefulness. Norman lightly batted the musician’s arm away from his lens as his light flickered on, producing what Bendy took to be a sound of agreement. Sat cross-legged in Sammy’s chair, his hands folded on his lap, he continued to grin broadly, watching through the sanctuary cutout as realisation began to dawn. “Wha-” Sammy whirled around as he sprung to his feet, stunned. “This is- we’re on a different floor! What?!”

Ahh, so _satisfying~_ Bendy snickered a little, while Norman rattled in shared surprise, his beam jittering around the room as he took in his new surroundings. It was rather amusing to see their reactions, though a touch of guilt made itself known when both his friends attempted to check that he hadn’t strained himself in bringing them this far. He hadn’t meant to worry them… "It͡'s ͝al̢rįg̢ḩt,̢ ̕I p̶ro̶m͜ise..͏."͟ He attempted, holding up his hands. "̴I ͢e͡ve̶n s̡t̶ill͠ f̷ee͢l mo͏stl̨y͠ f̧u͠l͞l͝..͞.͟"

An unusual state of being, and one he could feel Sammy checking, the touch of his mind light as a music sheet. A little amused, he opened up the feeling of his repletion for his friend to find. The relieved flutter of Sammy’s thoughts as he found this was like the fleeting echo of a hug, or a rub between the horns - soothing and close. The gentle probing faded, and Sammy’s echo felt as though he were smiling.

Norman seemed to take his cue from Sammy’s relaxing posture, easing in place as well.  _“The whispers always said the angel doesn’t stick her head up this high.”_ Norman contributed, from his tone apparently quite a fan of that thought. Bendy sure couldn’t begrudge him the sentiment. With a vague wave of one hand, he agreed, explaining that he hadn’t glimpsed her at this height either. It was a weight lifted from their shoulders, though the question of _why_ she wouldn’t do so was somehow neglected. It just seemed to make sense, somehow.

Thus assured of their safety, it was no surprise that their thoughts turned next onto food. However, to get that food, venturing out of the sanctuary would be a necessity. Bendy was briefly concerned that Sammy’s unpleasant run-in with the band when he’d first awakened on this floor would make him feel unsafe doing so. However, when he brushed his concern against Sammy’s thoughts, the musician responded at once with warm assurance.

After all they’d faced, and what Norman had taught them about searchers, Sammy no longer feared what remained of his band. Besides, hadn’t Bendy himself already taught him a means for safety? That thought puzzled Bendy for a moment or two, before recalling the first thing he’d actually ever spoken of with Sammy - singing to soothe the searchers. Sammy chuckled, patting Bendy’s back as he raised the door. A noise of startled realisation burst from Norman’s speaker, and he turned his light on Sammy in a whirl, to the demon’s bemusement.  _“So THIS is where you kept running off to!”_


	21. Angelic Interlude: Threefold

Shooting all those cutouts had been… cathartic, while it lasted - for all that the blasted things seemed to have regenerated by now. The angel had to admit, it hadn’t been the most logical of decisions, but how was she supposed to have known the demon would react that way?! He’d gashed her with his claws, yes, but he’d been with the others, reacting like a person, not a feral brute. Clearly, he was touchier than she’d thought - and far more vicious. It was a miracle - a Miracle Station to be precise - that he hadn’t devoured her as he had her poor precious cherubs.

Those poor little dears had been so much more than weapons and spy-eyes - they’d been company, sweet and catlike. True, they hadn’t exactly been the brightest bulbs, but they’d been like her own little flock - even responding to her emotions and coming to cuddle her when it all grew too much. It was tempting to try to make more - they’d been one of the few things that both Susie and Perfect were willing to surface for - but what if the new cherubs met the same fate as those they’d lost? She  _ really _ didn’t want to have to explain that to her passengers. Maybe if she only made a few, and kept them close? Safe in a station any time she couldn’t be with them? That could work…

Drawing some encouragement from the thought, she warily carried her gun with her as she headed for the shelves of little cloth angels. It was usually one of the safer places to be - even the near-mindless Butchers had learned not to stumble that close - but her most frequent haunts had been rather more often intruded on of late.

There they were… yellowed with age (or possibly the ink) and roughly stitched here and there, but still smiling so sweetly at her while her song filled the air with the echo of brighter days she only really recalled snippets of. It was hard to be sure, too, how much of what she remembered came from which of her passengers - just that the happier days had all been theirs one way or another.

Sometimes, she was so tempted to ask more about those times - but whenever they tried to reach too far, the halo sunk into her head seared with a pain that buckled her at the knees. That was one of the main reasons she’d had to step up in the first place - if Susie or Perfect tried to handle things for too long, the pain and the static bursts tearing inside her head shoved them back down again. She had to be Alice Angel, or they’d just fall apart again - and one thing they were  _ all _ burningly adamant about was that they would  _ not _ be a slug again. It was too hard to think like that, too filled with screams and suffering-

She paused, realising that her fingers had begun to dig tightly into the fabric of a doll she’d picked up while her mind wandered. Slowly, she eased her grip, gathering up an armful of the soft, soothing angelets. It was going to be okay - it  _ had _ to be okay. Hurrying back into her labspace, she began by laying them upon the table that thief of a musician had so rudely emptied - after turning it horizontal, of course.

“Don’t look…” She whispered, as she reached for the scalpel. It was a familiar refrain, one to warn her poor dear passengers to turn their sight away and slumber. They didn’t need to watch her operate on the creatures of ink, whether for this or self-improvement. She was the one who’d taken up the mantle of an angel of death, not naive, scorned Susie or innocent, disoriented Perfect - she wouldn’t let them, even if they could surface that long. If anyone was going to shoulder those tasks, it was going to be  _ her. _ She was the one who’d got them this far, she was the one with the grit to get through the hell of the studio without buckling, and  _ she _ was the one who would see things through at  _ least _ until they were perfect. Then, perhaps, she could sleep for a while? That would be nice… 


	22. The Band's All Here

Sammy had to admit, it was kind of hilarious to behold Norman’s moment of dawning understanding. However, even if the projectionist’s questions about how he’d managed to get a secret hidey hole like this  _ before _ everything went to shit hadn’t been mercifully interrupted by the oozingly liquid groans of searchers, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. It was a frayed hole in the fabric of his memory, as though inky moths had been gnawing on the fabric of his life. Maybe Norman might forget the question, with such handy distractions incoming? “No time for that now, we’ve got introductions to make!”

The band were encroaching faster than he’d have liked for the ability to properly focus on making a memory glob - as he swung hurriedly out of the way of a lunging arm, he pulled his banjo out from… somewhere. At some point or another, he wasn’t sure when, he’d found that he was only carrying his axe in hand - but when he’d felt a burst of dismay at losing his cherished instrument, it had replaced his axe with an almost inaudible pop. Deeply strange, but it lined up with what Bendy had confessed about the crate of hearts, and with what he knew of how cartoons could carry things that weren’t visible until they were needed.

Strumming, Sammy groped around in his mind for a song, any song - it didn’t matter what, so long as it could calm his old colleagues down enough to be receptive to introductions. Yankee Doodle was a… surreal melody to land on, given basically everything about the situation, but it was a song that had staying power in the mind - and as the searchers slowed, he could almost swear he glimpsed recognition in their melted features.

Norman hadn’t been idle during Sammy’s musical interlude, he saw, as the projectionist began to toss gobbets of ink at the searchers. Bendy, however, stood fidgeting and unable to aim clearly while the view from Sammy’s mask was in motion. Thankfully, as his band began to settle, Sammy was able to do so himself as well. Once he was stood steadily, he felt what might have been a brush of gratitude against his mind.

He didn’t even really need to see what was going on to know when Bendy began to spread his introductions - after all, the startled sounds the glooping figures produced were quite self-evident. Still singing, though he was no longer strumming, Sammy at last had the mental space to focus on introductions of his own - memories of working with the band in their heyday prominent within them. Placing particular emphasis on both the threads of memory Simon had granted him and on any flicker of another’s name - like Megan Wainright, the flute player. Truthfully, though, he wasn’t sure which searcher might be which.

There was something heartrending about how excited they grew after absorbing the globs, all producing ghastly gulp-gloop sounds as they gathered, as though they’d forgotten they couldn’t speak. Norman had begun to gently pet them, as though they were all overgrown dogs or something. It seemed to be well-received, anyway, from the way they gooily cooed and leaned in, so… that was okay. “Who are you..?” Sammy asked, after it became clear that he no longer needed to keep singing in order to appease them.

There was a moment of hesitation, the band falling silent to contemplate. Only three began to swell up glops to offer, one for each less-melted soul. Sammy took hold of the one offered to him with care, not wishing to lose his grip on the horrid squelchy thing. Squeezing it, he watched as it absorbed into his inky skin - still such a surreal, unsettling thing to behold.

What began to flicker in the confines of his mind was… a lot less clear than Simon had managed. It was like trying to watch and listen to something while encased in nearly opaque gel - everything was muffled and indistinct, hardly a word or a clear feature of anything but the instruments bleeding through. The music was the clearest aspect, but even that was made strange by the way perspective flickered at random through the sound and position amidst the dark shapes of people.

With a flash of horrified pity, Sammy understood. They didn’t  _ know _ which of them was which any more - the introduction was shaped from a composite of shared memory snippets, the only identity left to them their membership in the band. “I - I’m so sorry…” Sammy whispered, stricken, and feeling oddly responsible. Perhaps there might still be ways to tell them apart, such as by section, but even that wouldn’t narrow things down enough for a name.

How narrowly had he avoided being a part of their faceless hive? What could he do for them, now that they had lost so much of themselves? He had to do  _ something _ \- they were  _ his _ band,  _ his _ responsibility - if he didn’t look after them, who would? He’d been belligerently protective of them before, when Drew’s architectural and deadline-crunching tyranny had been in full swing - he was sure of that, even if not of the specifics - and he intended to look after them as best he could now, even if they were more like a flock of forlorn, gloopy sheep now than a vibrant band of individuals and friends. Perhaps especially in that case. Sheep needed a shepherd to keep them safe…

What would happen to the poor lost lambs once they got the door open? For all their determination to reach the first floor and break out of their dark confines, Sammy wasn’t sure he could recall if he or the others had actually made a plan for what to do upon actually breaking out. What could they do, looking as they did? Where could they go? His mind quailed at the implications, casting urgently for some rock to cling to in the face of the fearful current that threatened him.

They’d been changed once already. By rights, they ought be able to be changed again, right? They could sneak out at night until they worked out how - and surely, surely it was feasible? Bendy seemed to be growing ever more powerful the longer he was free of those awful chains - there was hope, there. Incredible things could happen in cartoons - and if they needed more than to help Bendy learn more of his powers, there was always kidnap. Joey  _ owed _ them, and Sammy was grimly sure he was still out there somewhere.

Since he’d been clearly quite capable of feats of terrible transformation before, there was at least a chance he’d know how to reverse it. As Plan B options went, it was risky, but better than nothing. "̕A̛r͏e͡ yo̡u o͝ka͘y̵, Sa̶m̷m̷y?̧" Bendy’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, and Sammy hastened to assure him that he was alright, that he’d just been lost in thought. A slight shifting feeling caught his attention, alerting him to the startling fact that he’d apparently been zoned out enough for one of the band to hug onto him without his notice - no wonder Bendy’d been worried, if he’d been  _ that _ zonked.

How long had they been there? Had they been somehow listening to him? He honestly couldn’t tell. Patting the searcher gently, he glanced across at Norman, who seemed to be gathering soup as they’d originally intended - a good thing he’d remembered, as it had gone quite out of Sammy’s head. Right now, he could use something to eat.


	23. Scribing Time

Although it was tempting to just… linger awhile with the band, rolling what memories he could to them, Sammy was all too aware that the longer they dallied, the more time there was for something to go wrong. Alice, such as she was, could attack again. Their memories could erode further - a process Sammy would have been prepared to bet was ongoing. Bendy could grow hungry once more - necessitating another trip down into danger to gather him a suitable meal. There were so many possibilities, so many ways things could go awry - but although Sammy’s thoughts turned to pressing on, there was still something he wanted to do first.

“I’m just heading to my office, guys.” He said aloud, deciding against an explanation as he waved, heading off as the others waved back. He could just tell them later. Closing the door behind him, Sammy took a moment to just… soak in the fact that he was back. It was, besides his sanctuary, probably the closest he had to coming home in this bastardised old place. The moment passed in dusty silence, and he sank into his chair, a flicker of memory painting the sounds of a busy studio’s bustle around him. What an ironic thing to find so nostalgic…

He shook it off with a conscious effort, rubbing the forehead of his mask - something he was actually starting to feel. It was slightly fogged, as though it had been longer than it seemed to have been, but Sammy recalled finding paper in his drawers, and leaving records behind. Back when he’d still had his own eyes, or some semblance of them. He’d been so afraid back then, the terror lending a helpful distinction to the memories. Of course, he’d been afraid since, but at least he’d had more idea of what was going on than he’d started with.

The drawer slid open with a wooden rasp as he tugged upon it - still there. His notes were still there… For a moment, he hesitated, trepidation tugging at his nerves. With careful fingers freshly wiped on his overalls, Sammy lifted a stack of paper from its protective confines to set upon his desk. His old handwriting was still familiar - that was a good sign. However, he noted with some dismay that there were things missing - not pages, but details he’d neglected to include.

How old was he? When was his birthday? He doubted he was in his twenties, as a music director - that was a senior sort of position. Beyond that, though, he couldn’t tell. The most he had was a sort of hazy impression that an odd number was involved. The thought of age brought with it a hint of memory, something about the day he’d turned… either eighteen or twenty one. Possibly both of those homogenised into one. Grabbing a blank sheet with an urgent crinkle, he did his best to scribe it down before it could flit out again - like pinning a butterfly to a board.

There had been a trip somewhere, a restaurant - he tried to sketch some of the imagery, faces and setting, but he wasn’t exactly an artist. There’d been fish, he recalled that much - and a trip on a boat? Maybe a ferry of some kind. Dolphins leapt indistinctly in his mind’s eye, and he did his best to scribble down each detail. He’d been… elated, a sort of faded impression of warm bubbliness surfacing to soothe the blow of the moth-bit state of his mind. It was warming to think that he’d been happy, when most of his clearest moments had been charged with stress and frustration.

An instrument, something stringed - an expensive gift from a grizzled figure who was probably his grandfather. He was probably gone, now, wasn’t he? Aside from the barest suggestion of something caramel, his well of memory for that day - or days - had run dry. Setting his new record down with a sigh, Sammy wondered how long it would take him to forget what a birthday even was. Cartoons only seldom acknowledged them, as far as he knew, as to show years passing was to show characters aging, and not many wished to do such a thing. Certainly, Drew hadn’t.

Fishing the notes he’d made while walking from his person, he set them down atop his newest, before taking hold of another older page as he searched for reaffirmation of his identity. What had his parents’ names been? He hadn’t written them down, he couldn’t call them to mind - he  _ could _ still remember their faces, however, just about. Grabbing another fresh sheet to urgently scrawl upon, he wondered if they were still out there, if they were searching or grieving for him - or if they’d donned wooden onesies and coats of marble still not knowing what had become of him. It was a harrowing thought, but by now it was one of many, a familiar sort of feeling draped on him like a blanket.

Had he ever had a pet? Siblings? He’d have liked to think he’d remember things like that, have liked to believe that if he’d loved, he’d know, but… he could barely recall what his parents were like, and he was certain he’d always loved them. The yawning gulfs in his mind seemed all the deeper now that he was staring them down, hammering in the urgency of his self-imposed mission to scrawl down everything he could think of, to hold onto it for that much longer.

The fate of his band had filled his heart with an existential sort of horror, all too aware that he could fall the same way, whether all at once or in a slow, imperceptible creep. It was essential that he fight this war of the mind head-on  _ now, _ or else he was sure he’d lose more than he’d even know he’d lost by the time he got to work on things. It wasn’t the only battle in the memory war he was waging any more, either - he’d started scribing down memories that had been shared with him as well. If sharing memories was a good way to protect them a little from erosion, then surely writing them down was an even greater way to honour the gifts of glimpses back through time that he was granted.

It was a tiring task, but he had help. When he’d explained what he was doing to the others, when they’d asked about the notes he was taking, Norman had offered his own brand of assistance. The projectionist couldn’t hold a pen very easily any more, but he  _ could _ stow globs of memory in crates, could store them safe in a hidden dry nook as a defence against the rising tide of blankness. Between their efforts, and contributions from all three of them, Sammy had hope that they could hold onto who they were. It was best to have hope, after all, wasn’t it?

Better that than the alternative - despair wasn’t an attractive prospect, and somehow Sammy doubted it would be at all easy to clamber out of such a pit in a wretched place like this. How he’d feel about it in the future, he wasn’t sure, but he hoped that once they were out, their memories would at least stabilise, if not return wholly.


	24. Giddiness and Cantankery

Everyone’s spirits were high as they clambered up the stairs to the first floor - how could they not be? Finally, the exit was in sight, or soon would be, anyway. Sammy hummed brightly to himself as he led the way, feeling on top of the world. In a way, he kind of was - on top of the bizarre hellworld the studio had become - but no more! It was time to finally get out of here! True, they’d probably have to do quite a bit of hiding, to avoid being pursued - of course they would, looking the way they did, but if they were careful, they could probably pass themselves off as being just the sort of urban legend creatures everyone dismissed as fantasy until they could find someone who could help them.

They’d been planning it out on the way up - they’d work together to find somewhere safe they could hide away in, and then he and Norman could help the others to get there safely while Bendy guarded the place. It’d be harder for Bendy to navigate the city alone, in the absence of cutouts, but they could definitely fill a hiding place with them. Hell, maybe they could even start sneaking cutouts around the city - it’d be a risk, and a lot would probably be taken down, but if they could manage it then surely Bendy’d be much more able to sneak around the city?

His own excitement wasn’t the only fizz in his mind as they stepped across the creaking boards, peering around as though it was all new (which in a way it was after so long). Bendy’s bright bubbling glee thrummed through their link, with the sense that if he could be, the demon would be skipping. Even Norman had a spring in his step, and that was far from easy to accomplish with as much machine weight as he carried with him.

Pausing in the former break room, where all those pedestals had been put up, Sammy noticed with bemusement that they seemed to be bare. Had someone taken the little things Drew had ‘requested’ off of them? Just as well - there was no reason to show his wishes any consideration under the circumstances.

Norman held up a hand, noticing something. Fading quickly from the floor, but quite definitely present, there were faint inky footprints. Was someone else there? Without a word needed, the three of them began to quietly follow the traces. If someone was up there, they needed to know whether this was friend or foe. Creeping was, however, not exactly easy for all of them. With a stray, limped-heavy step, a board creaked beneath Bendy’s more lumpen foot, a wince running through the demon’s features - not stealthy.

Footfalls clattered, and something ahead slammed shut - abandoning the pretense of stealth, Sammy hurried after the sound, the others not far behind. “You can come out!” He called, trying to figure out which door had slammed. “We’re not going to hurt you if you don’t hurt us!” A muffled, derisive snort answered him, alongside the distinctive sound of furniture grinding against the floor - something that saw Bendy taking a few steps back. Was whoever this was… barricading the door? Sammy’d have called it rude, except that he knew how deadly the studio had become.

Following the sound to what seemed to be the right door, he was about to call out again - but a muffled, slightly goop-distorted voice cut him off. “Don’t bother, Prophet, there’s no way I’m getting caught up in your mess  _ this _ time around. You just do what you gotta do, and don’t come botherin’ me!” It was hard to really tell where to start with that - there was simply so much to question. Perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that he wouldn’t recognise their voice, between the inky distortions to both voice and memory, but the rest made little sense to him.

“I think you may have me confused for someone else… and what do you even  _ mean?” _ He tried, casting a querying glance at the others to see whether they had any idea what was going on. Norman, upon realising this, ceased fiddling with a mug he’d found somehow in order to shrug. Bendy just broadcast a vague wave of bafflement in his direction, no better informed than he. As helpful as that wasn’t, perhaps he’d get a more coherent answer from whoever was hiding from them?

“Horseshit.” Well, that was  _ definitely _ rude. “You’re the one wearin’ the mask and makin’ sacrifices in the name of that demon,  _ aintcha, _ Mr Lawrence?” Sammy stared incredulously at the door, his voice temporarily stolen. He honestly couldn’t deny either of those points - nor, for that matter, that the hidden voice had gotten his name right. What he was less sure of was how they even knew  about at least the latter part. Had someone seen? How fast did gossip  _ travel _ in this hellhole, with people as gungified as they were? He was almost impressed.

Did making a ritual sacrifice to Bendy make him a prophet? Something about the title felt… oddly right, somehow, but he was still uncertain. There was more to question, too, for that matter. “Okay, so… that’s not  _ entirely  _ wrong, but what do you  _ mean, _ ‘this time around?’ Who  _ are _ you?” He tried - yes, he did have plans, important plans, but conversation with someone coherent who seemed to know more about him than he was sure he was comfortable with wasn’t exactly something to just brush off.

“None of yer beeswax! I’m not so sure you  _ don’t _ know what I mean - and even if you really don’t, I ain’t trustin’ it, so beat it!” That… was less than helpful. Somehow, Sammy got the impression he wasn’t exactly in their good books, for whatever reason. Further attempts to talk to them were just met with a stony, stubborn silence - whoever they were, they were clearly done talking. As it became clear that nothing more was going to come of this, Norman beckoned, urging Sammy to leave them be.

With a huff, Sammy began to stride after him, decidedly more confused than he’d been earlier. What could it all mean? Well, maybe it wouldn’t matter once they got everyone out… Then again, Bendy would still need to feed - but maybe trips back for that purpose could be arranged, out of sight of anyone who might be disturbed. Whatever the feral Butchers were now, he doubted they could be safely moved.


	25. The Door, A Wall

The distrustful stranger wasn’t the only sour note in the symphony of their ascent, either - in one of the rooms, there lay an unpleasant reminder of how brutal the studio could be, for all that the first floor was supposed to be the most peaceful now according to both Norman and Bendy. A corpse, laid open upon a familiar sort of table… The unfortunate Boris’ crossed-out eyes looked all the more upsetting in three dimensions than they could have in a cartoon. It was much more real - as if his eyes had just vanished, replaced sloppily by congealed strips of ink like a macabre closing of the eyes gesture.

Bendy lingered by the body’s side for a moment, and while Sammy wondered if he was paying his respects, he carefully kept from prying or letting his curiosity seep through. Some moments just didn’t bear interrupting. Quietly, Norman passed a little glob to him, one that oozed with a sticky whisper that the angel had once roamed more extensively, but that her travels had trailed off long ago. The corpse still looked as fresh as though the poor wolf could have been walking yesterday - but did inky flesh decompose the same way as human flesh? A train of thought he swiftly cut off, when he noticed that Bendy seemed to be ready to move on.

Drawing himself up, Sammy began to lead the way back towards the door they’d all been questing for. Admittedly, the edge had been somewhat knocked off of the sense of shared giddiness, but _still._ The door was in sight! The way out was _right there!_ Breaking into a run, Sammy threw himself towards the door at full tilt. He only just managed to halt his hurtle in time to avoid crashing into it, reaching eagerly for the handle.

_Clack. Clackclackclackclackclack._

It was locked - of _course_ it would be locked! What kind of idiot leaves an entire studio unlocked, dilapidated or not? “Key!” Sammy exclaimed, his tone more than a little frantic. “We need a key!” No, no, wait… Keys were for the outside of a door, not the inside - he just needed to find the lock on this side and open it up, right? Should be easy-peasy - except it wasn’t. There was no function there, no moving parts, nothing to slide or turn or lift.

A buzzing in the back of his mind went unheeded, his thoughts at such a frenetic whirl that he scarcely noticed the footfalls of his friends coming up alongside him. They’d come too far for him to give up now! No stupid, sticking excuse for a door was going to keep them from sunlit skies! Sammy’s hands clenched tight around the axe handle abruptly in his grasp. His whole body thrown into the motion, he swung hard at the door.

_Thunk! Thunk!_

Not even the slightest of dents, no shift in its frame. A low whine of dismay, but not his own - Bendy’s horns drooped, before folding back like the ears of an angry cat. He hissed - there were no words, but Sammy knew to step swiftly out of the way.

**_SLAM!_ **

The demon charged, his impact shuddering the wall slightly. No change. Sammy buckled - his own roiling emotions were overwhelming enough, but now the crashing dissonance of Bendy’s poured in unchecked as well.

**_SMACK!_ **

Again, Bendy hurled himself at the unyielding door. Again, only a quiver in the walls. _“Go for the hinges!” _ Norman buzzed, his voice distorted in agitated static. He’d caught Sammy, but the musician barely noticed, a ringing sound underlying the sheer unreality of the moment. Bendy’s collisions, Norman’s voice - distant, muddled. It wasn’t real - it _couldn’t_ be real. They were going to get out - he should be helping - but he wasn’t moving. Was he stuck too? Oh, no, no, there were arms, weren’t there? He noted it only dimly - his own form didn’t really feel real either, right now. Lurching - there was a lurching at the base of his head, as if to let all his thoughts tip out. As though through water, he could hear a rasped, gurgly wail - multitonal and other worldly. Bendy needed him - he had to get to Bendy! Struggling was too much, the effort tipping him into the silent black.

Close. Warm. As Sammy slowly regained his awareness, it was to the muzzy realisation that he was sandwiched between his friends quite snugly. His face felt slimy beneath his mask, as though he’d been leaking, and the excess ink felt clammy on his skin - like chilly ditchwater. A headache lurked vaguely, rolling dully in the background of his stained skull, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about that. How could he? There were far more pressing matters to fret about, in the wake of their shambles of an attempt on the exit.

They were trapped - shut in like rabbits in a hutch - and even the strength of a literal demon hadn’t been enough to break through. What could they do now? They surely couldn’t just give up, right? There _had_ to be a way out… If he couldn’t believe that, well, what _could_ he believe? A low croon from beside him alerted him to Bendy’s wakefulness, the demon beginning to give him a gentle nuzzle. "I̸̢'̷̨̢m͟ ̨͠s̛͡o͘r͜ry,̛ ̵͡S̡am͢͢my̷͢.͝.͜͠.̶̨͟"̕ Bendy whispered, his voice thicker than usual. Sammy could feel the regret rolling from him, the frustrated guilt and incomprehension. "͜I͞ c̸̢a͘n̛͘'̧t̡͢ m̸ak͢ȩ̢ ͘͞i͏̷t ̵͜open.͏.͏."̵̨

It really was stuck fast, then, wasn’t it..? Had someone laid bricks across the outside of it, to lock them in? He wasn’t sure he could think of another explanation - he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. Cupping Bendy’s huge cheek, Sammy tried to wipe away some of the fresh-leaked ink he thought was probably tears. “It’s not your fault…” He whispered back, hoarse. Bendy didn’t deserve the blame - and he’d tried his best, Sammy had _felt_ that. Whatever was getting in their way, whatever was keeping them trapped like wasps in a jar, it was clearly no fault of the demon’s.

"W̶̡e̶ c̶a͏̴͡n ͏k̕͟ee̢p̕͟ t̕r̛y̛͜i̸̢n̶g͠͡.͘.͏.̴͡"̴̧̛ Bendy attempted, tone strained as he tried to reassure the musician in his arms."̛͡I̛t̶͜ ̧-̷ ̴i̡̛͡t̶̡ ͢c̴̸a͘n͘͟'̛͜t̷ ̧͡b͡͝e͟ i̴m̷̸̴p̡͠͡o̕s̷͜͠s҉̡͢i͡bl͟͏ę͞,͠ c̵an̛ ̢̕i̵͘͡t̶͜?̛͘͏ W̡͝e͟͠'l͝l̛ g̡͞e̶̕͞t ̨̛o̕u̷t̷ ̢o̶͜f̶͝ ̵h̢er̷͡e̴͜͞ ͝͝e͘v̸e̶n͠t͢u͝al̸͝ly̨͢,͟ ͟s͟o͟͢m̡͟͡e͟͟h̨o̵̧w͠͏.̷͞.͝͡."͢ It was a frail hope, one without much substance to it yet, but Sammy latched onto it tightly, clinging to the hope that Bendy was right. He had to be, didn’t he?

It was at this point that Norman startled Sammy by speaking up - he’d rather thought the projectionist was still asleep.  _“Whoever was in that room earlier, I think they knew something about this.”_ It was clear from his tone that the thought didn’t sit well with Norman - Sammy knew well that the projectionist prided himself on finding out about everything, and someone else knowing more than he did about something as crucial as this was bound to be rankling at him. _ “They spoke as though something like this had happened before, but I’m  _ **_sur_ _e_ ** _I’d have heard about an attempt on the door before now.”_ He paused, taking a moment to think.  _“They also mentioned sacrifices. Plural. We’ve only done that one time, and I was just as involved as you were.”_

That… was a good point, actually - the rude stranger hadn’t actually mentioned Norman at all, just Sammy and his connection with Bendy. Something just wasn’t adding up. “They’re probably floors away by now…” Sammy greatly wished to pursue this possible source of useful information - but how could they do that, barely knowing anything about the sod? He wasn’t sure he’d recognise them if he ran into them again - it would be like looking for a specific straw in a haystack, not simply a needle.

At this, Norman shifted slightly where he lay, holding Sammy just a little closer.  _“I do have an idea about that, actually…”_ He admitted, his tone worryingly as though he knew Sammy wasn’t going to like it.  _“If I park my body back in my lair, I could slip back into the puddles… From there, if there’s any information to be had, I’m sure I’ll find it.”_ Sammy’d been absolutely right - he hated that. What if Norman got stuck outside his body? What if his mind got washed away?

“Not until you back up as much of your memory as you can, mister.” Sammy retorted at once, trying unsuccessfully to disguise concern as snappishness. He couldn’t let Norman take a chance like that without any preparation, he just _couldn’t._ There were precious few people he could recognise and speak with left to him, and he wasn’t about to let someone he cared about slip away so readily. Thankfully, Norman was patiently willing to promise to do his best on that score, likely realising that Sammy’d try to stop him otherwise, but he was worryingly dead set on doing this. Sammy dreaded the moment his friend would submerge himself in such a way, but he knew he couldn’t stop him, not really. It wasn’t Sammy’s choice to make. He just had to hope Norman would be okay, whether or not he founded the answers they were in need of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brings us to the end of Striving for the Sun - but don't worry, the first chapter of Circles of the Mind is already up~ Thank you for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far.


End file.
